


Sam I Am

by Lennelle



Series: Sam I Am [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brainwashing, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mentally Ill Sam Winchester, Past Brainwashing, Pre-Series, Psychic Abilities, Psychological Trauma, Psychosis, Sam Winchester and Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 79,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7254244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lennelle/pseuds/Lennelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was taken when he was only fifteen years old. It's been two years. Everyone has changed, but Sam is different.<br/>Dean learns to understand a brother who no longer makes any sense, trying to keep him safe from himself and the people who damaged him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by River Tam from Firefly. In a way, Sam is River and Dean is Simon.  
> You can read the completed fic and even the WIP sequel over on FF.net. If you want to read those, you can find me under the same username.

Dean sat, staring at his little brother sleeping on Bobby’s couch. Sam had been gone for two years, taken when he was only fifteen. They’d all changed but Sam was different.

It was late; pushing into the early hours of the morning and the moonlight fell through the windows and illuminated Sam’s face. It was the first time in the two weeks since he’d been back that Sam was sleeping peacefully, naturally, silently. Some nights they’d had to knock the kid out with the strong drugs they reserved for messy hunts because Sam had an endless reserve of energy and unpredictable behaviour. Other nights he would scream and scream, crying out incoherently when he was gripped in a nightmare.

Tonight, Dean wouldn’t sleep. He rarely took his eyes off his brother, fearful that he would vanish if he looked away for even a moment. Besides, he didn’t trust Sam to be by himself anymore, not the way he was now. No, Dean wouldn’t sleep. He would sit and watch Sam curled up under the blankets their father had draped over him when he’d fallen asleep on the couch, his face twitching every so often as he dreamed. He kept watch because he didn’t trust that Sam wouldn’t disappear any second, he didn’t trust that Sam wouldn’t hurt himself, and he didn’t trust that Sam would have the mercy of a peaceful night.

Bobby’s wooden desk chair was not built for all-nighters; Dean figured that’s why the old guy was so gruff. Dean’s ass was beginning to go numb, his legs were stiff. But most of all, he just needed some air and a cigarette. He wasn’t proud of the habit. He’d picked it up not many months after they realised Sam was truly missing. Growing up, he’d known his father to smoke now and then; to deal with the stress of the hunt. The two of them were regulars now; they avoided doing it in front of Sam, though they weren’t sure if Sam would even understand what it meant. He remembered once when they were kids and Sam had found their dad smoking outside the motel room, the look on the kid’s face was one of complete and utter betrayal, then he’d started spouting out some gruesome facts about the dangers of cigarettes until John stubbed it out and tossed away his packet.

Dean felt a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth but he never let it work its way into a grin. Remembering Sam, the way he used to be, was bitter-sweet. He had to remember that his little brother wasn’t the same anymore, and might never be again, but he also had to be thankful that he had his little brother back at all. He also really had to have a cigarette.

He carefully lifted himself from Bobby’s desk chair, wincing when the floorboard creaked under his weight, he flicked a glance towards Sam who muttered in his sleep and nuzzled further into the pillow. Dean crept around the desk and stopped to stare at his little brother.

Sam looked peaceful, normal. His hair was a little shorter than he remembered; all the same length and healthy-looking as though it had been growing back out. He was healthy physically, as far as they could tell; a little skinny but in good shape. In fact, his muscles were toned and his physique was lean and strong. But Sam had always been a small kid and his obvious growth spurt made him look lanky. Dean’s face tightened with grief, Sam had grown in the two years they’d been without him and they’d missed that major growth spurt which matched him to Dean’s height. They’d had that taken away from them.

Resisting the urge to stroke Sam’s hair, Sam did not like his head being touched nowadays, Dean crept through the kitchen to the back door and let himself out. He made sure his back was touching the doorway and that Sam was still in his line of vision. He was respectful enough of Bobby not to smoke in his house. He would never smoke near Sam, not unless he wanted to hear every gory detail of the effects it would have on his lungs. But that used to be Sam, once. Sam was different now. He wondered what this Sam would make of his habit.

Dean fingered through his pocket and pulled out his pack. Slipping a cigarette between his fingers, he spent a moment fiddling with it as he retrieved his lighter. He put it to his lips and lit the end, taking a long inhale as he watched it glow, the orange embers fluttering to the ground as he tapped it against the ash stray which sat on the porch table. He held the smoke in his lungs and closed his eyes before he released it through slightly parted lips.

He glanced back into the house to find Sam still in the same position, curled up on his side with his face pushed into the couch cushion, the blanket gripped tight in his hand and pulled all the way up to his shoulders. It was such a beautiful sight to see him really sleep, almost unbelievable, but then again, this Sam is unpredictable. Dean used to be so in synch with Sam; they could get what the other was thinking with one look, they knew the meaning of every habit and exhale and wrinkle. It had been like their own language, one that didn’t need words. Now, Dean didn’t understand one thing about his little brother.  
When he finished his cigarette he pulled out another and used the first to light it. He’d held back with his habit ever since they found Sam, mostly because he didn’t have a moment to himself. Sam was a full-time occupation for Dean and he was going to take this peaceful night for everything it was worth.

Dean scrubbed a hand through his spiky hair when he came to the end of the smoke and put it out in the ashtray. He ought to go back in, sit with Sam in case he wakes up, be there to calm him down if he has a nightmare, remind him where he is if he’s forgotten. Dean loves his brother, no matter what, no matter what state Sam is in Dean will always love him, but sometimes he can’t help but wish he could have some time away from the screaming, the yelling, the monologues in foreign languages, the hyperactive episodes, the rocking back and forth, the cryptic words. He just wanted some time away from the insanity.

He pressed his lips together to stop them from trembling and sucked in a breath, blinking back the tears. He tried to push the memories away, the ones from the day they found Sam. He didn’t want to see it, he didn’t want to see the image of Sam strapped into that chair as white-coated men slid a needle into his arm. He didn’t want to remember that thing they’d strapped onto his head, the screams Sam made when they did. He didn’t want to see it but he did, every damn day.

Dean sat down, back against the inside of the doorframe, his knees bent as his feet rested on the other side. He stayed there, watching the night sky turn from dark blue to purple then pink. The sun crept up over the fence of the salvage yard, hitting the metal of scrapped vehicles with warm light. Dean figured it was around 5.30 am, which meant Bobby and their dad would be up soon.

“You didn’t sleep.” Dean turned around at the sound of Sam’s voice. Sam stood in the kitchen, eyes on the sunrise, his hair was scruffy from sleep and he wore one of Dean’s old Metallica shirts and some old pyjama pants which were too short for his legs.

“Sure I did,” Dean answered, watching as his brother moved forward to sit cross-legged next to him, the whole time Sam’s gaze was fixed on the early morning sky.

“Liar,” Sam answered vaguely, there was a small smile on his lips, “You’re wearing yesterday’s clothes.”

“Well, I got up and dressed early,” Dean quipped, raising an eyebrow curiously when Sam’s eyes flicked to Dean’s face.

“Still lying,” Sam observed, “I know you didn’t sleep, I can see it, and your brain is tired.”

Dean gave a small laugh, “You were always too observant, Sammy. What’re you doing up so early?”

Sam’s gaze wandered back to the rising sun, “She’s awake, so are we. She brings the day. I missed her for a long time.”  
Dean’s smile faded. He should be glad that Sam is having a good day, he seems calm and coherent, not making much sense but he never usually does. But Dean understood what he was saying. Sam had taken to avoiding the word ‘it’; everything was given a pronoun of either ‘he’, ‘she’ or ‘they’. This morning, Dean learned that the sun was female, along with the Impala and Bobby’s house. It was a good day so far, he was happy for that, but when Sam mentioned his captivity Dean always felt his heart constrict.

Sam dropped his gaze from the sunset, his expression was sad as he hunched his shoulders. Dean clambered out of his space between the doorway and over to Sam, sitting himself by his brothers side he placed a hand comfortingly on Sam’s shoulder. He began to rub soothing circles on Sam’s back when, to his surprise, Sam leaned forward and rested his head against Dean’s chest. He froze for a moment before resuming the soft motions up between Sam’s shoulder blades.

Sam hadn’t allowed much contact since they’d gotten him back, unless it was on his terms. But he never let anyone touch his head, never, yet here he was, nuzzling into Dean’s chest.

“You’re okay, Sammy,” Dean whispered, “You’re not there anymore, you won’t ever go back. You don’t have to miss her anymore.”

It was an attempt at speaking his brother’s language and he wasn’t sure how it would be received.

“Don’t have to miss you anymore,” Sam said quietly as he snaked his arms around Dean’s waist and pulled himself in tighter.

“No, Sammy, never again.”


	2. Reality

_July 20th_ _1998_

Sam had always been a talkative child, always asking _why?_

Dean could remember a bright-eyed and dimple-cheeked five year old babbling away about anything and everything. He could also remember the way his father would clench his jaw and take a deep breath before he would say, “That’s nice, Sammy, but I’m working right now.” John would then go back to writing in his journal or talking to Caleb on the phone. Sam would pout and run away to find Dean to play with.

Sam had always been one to speak his mind but as a child he also listened to their father. As soon as Sam had turned twelve the whys had lost their childish innocence, instead he would constantly question their father, the hunt, their life.

The rebellion only got worse with every year; eventually John and Sam were at each other’s throats almost every day of the week and Dean was left to hold the small family together.

Today was like any other day, the three of them had been on the road for several hours now and Dean was ready to open the passenger door and hurl himself onto the highway. John’s knuckles were whitening as he clutched the steering wheel; his eyes pinned on the road with fierce determination. Dean could tell it was taking his father everything he had not to pull over and tear Sam a new one.

“Sam, I said no,” John said through gritted teeth. The argument had been going on for two days, which Dean thought might break a record. Sam was leaning against the back seat window, a letter and brochure clutched in his hand, his jaw twitched as he let out a growl of frustration.

“You didn’t even read the letter!” Sam argued. He crossed his arms over his chest, his nostrils flaring. At fifteen years old Sam had recently gone through a growth spurt, his chubby pre-teen body transforming into long, awkward limbs and a skinny frame. John had been pleased, sure that Sam might outgrow Dean, Dean wasn’t so sure. However, to their father’s dismay, it was soon obvious that Sam’s new growth spurt had thrown his coordination way off; the kid was constantly tripping over his feet. The clumsiness meant extra training for Sam to build up some muscle and balance; something which resulted in another civil war between John and Sam.

“I don’t need to read the damn letter!” John shouted back. Dean winced and glimpsed at Sam through the rear view mirror who was scowling at the back of John’s head.

“Of course you don’t! John Winchester doesn’t have to do anything! John Winchester is all-knowing!” Sam yelled back sarcastically.

Their father yanked the wheel, the car swerving onto the side of the road so fast that Dean only just managed to stop himself from hitting the dashboard. The silence that followed was almost painful, Sam averted his gaze out the window, his chest heaving with anger.

“Samuel,” John said with eerie calm. Dean gulped as their father used his brother’s full name; Sam had really done it now. “You’re mad at me? I honestly don’t care; you can hate me all you want. My job isn’t to be your friend; my job is to keep you safe. If you’re going to stay safe you’re going to stay with this family, not go to some prissy academic programme!”

“Safe? How the hell is trailing me around the country and chasing monsters safe? I’ve been shooting fucking guns since I was eight! What kind of parent does that to their kids?” Sam hissed.

“Sam…” Dean warned, finding it difficult to keep the shock out his voice.

“Mind your fucking language and show me some respect!” John barked, “I’m sorry to break it to you but the world doesn’t revolve around you, boy. You think this programme is important? What about the lives of the people we save? Are they even worthy of the ground you walk on?”

“Screw you!” Sam bit back, he yanked open the door and hurled himself out the car, the Impala shaking as the door slammed shut behind him. Dean sighed and glanced out the window to see his little brother trudging a few yards away into the desert before he stopped and threw his head back, screaming in frustration, he then proceeded to throw rocks into the distance.

“He’s really pissed off,” Dean observed, accidentally breaking the silence.

“Better pissed than dead,” John replied.

“You both took it too far that time.”

“Both?”

“Yeah, Dad, both of you. I agree he shouldn’t have disrespected you like that but you were acting like he doesn’t give a damn about anyone but himself. You and I both know the kid doesn’t have a selfish bone in his body.”

John wiped a hand over his face, “I know, I know that.”

“Then why would you say it?”

“I just got so mad…” John let out a breath, “Sam knows how to push my buttons.”

“You know, you could at least read the letter,” Dean suggested.

“He’s not going.”

“You don’t even know anything about it! Would it kill you to let him go off for a couple of weeks to do some of that nerd crap that makes him happy?”

“I need to keep him safe.”

“From what?

“From…” John stopped short, looking into Dean’s eyes and Dean had the impression his father was contemplating telling him something.

“From what?” Dean repeated.

John quickly looked away and sighed.

“From everything, the boy’s a magnet for danger.”

Dean frowned.

“Why do I get the impression you’re not telling me something?”

“I worry about you boys,” John admitted, “Every second of the damn day, but Sammy’s different…”

“I know, Dad, we gotta look out for Sammy.”

“Yeah,” John agreed, leaning forward to look out the passenger window to Sam, who was still hurling rocks and kicking a shrub. “Why don’t you go round him up so we can stop for the night.”

“Dad, I think maybe you should go talk to him.”

“I will,” John promised, “I just think me going out there isn’t such a good idea, not when he’s got ammo.”

Dean nodded in agreement when Sam hurled a particularly large rock at a tree, effectively snapping a small branch off. He stepped out the Impala, the passenger door creaking behind him. He walked across the dry ground. The highway was small, almost empty and surrounded by miles of desert and mountainous areas. Sam seemed to have given up taking his anger out on nature and was slumped at the base of the only tree for miles, bouncing a rock up and down in his hand.

Dean took it slow, not mistaking the quiet for calm; Sam was still a ball of fifteen year old fury. Sam looked up when he noticed Dean approach, still scowling.

“Hey kiddo,” Dean crouched down in front of him, “You done breaking stuff?”

“Shut up,” Sam said, though there was little enthusiasm in his voice.

“C’mon, let’s go back to the car.”

“I’m not going back in there with him.” Dean scoffed, “Sam, it’s mid-July and we’re in the middle of nowhere, you wanna get picked apart by vultures?”

“I already am,” Sam muttered under his breath.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Dad’s a vulture?” he asked, amused. Sam just shook his head and looked away.

After a moment, he dropped his shoulders. His gaze focused on the ground between his feet.

“Why doesn’t he listen to me?” he asked, voice small, “I try to talk but he just shuts me off. He doesn’t think what I have to say is worth listening to… then I just get so mad because it’s like I’m not even there. What’s the point of me when I’m invisible in this family?”

Dean dropped carefully onto the ground, peering at Sam, trying to make eye contact. “You really think that?”

Sam’s solemn nod was the only answer.

“Sam, you’re not invisible. We love you, you know that right?”

Sam shrugged.

“Aw Sam. You know if anything happened to you, I don’t know what would happen to me and dad. We need you, Sam.”

“Then why do you leave me behind for some hunts? Why does Dad get so angry at me? Why can’t I do anything right?” Sam sniffed and Dean realised his brother was crying, his head ducked between his knees.

“Sammy, none of that’s true. I’m sorry we let you think that,” he leaned forward and gripped his brother’s shoulder, causing Sam to look up. “Come back to the car and we’ll stop at the next motel, okay? Dad wants to talk, he didn’t mean what he said, you know.”

“If he didn’t mean it then why did he say it?” Sam mumbled.

“Did you mean everything you said?” Dean questioned.

Sam looked up; wiping his eyes he shook his head. “I wanted to upset him because he upset me.”

“Exactly,” Dean pointed out, “Dad did the same thing. You two are so similar, that’s why you butt heads all the time.”

Sam frowned. “Me and Dad are not the same,” he said adamantly.

“Maybe not exactly the same but you’re both as stubborn as each other.”

Sam shrugged again, this time with a small smile on his face. “Does he really want to talk?” he asked timidly.

“That’s what he said,” Dean smiled back, standing up and offering a hand to pull Sam to his feet. “Let’s go back to the car. If this gets anymore chick-flick, my balls will fall off.”

“Eugh! Dean, that’s gross!” Sam said, laughing.

“Seriously, though, you okay?” Dean asked, throwing his arm over Sam’s shoulders as they made their way back to the car.

Their dad watched them briefly with a fond smile on his face before facing back to the road.

Sam shrugged under his arms. “A bit. Kinda tired.”

“Don’t blame you. You really showed that shrub who’s boss,” Dean chortled.

They got back to the Impala, resuming their seats and pulling the doors closed behind them with a loud creak. There was a long silence between the three of them, Sam and John seemingly reluctant to make the first move. Dean glared at his dad and cleared his throat.

“Oh… right, yeah,” John took a deep breath, turning in his seat so he was facing his youngest. “Sammy, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I was angry and I didn’t mean it.”

“S’okay,” Sam mumbled, looking his father in the eye for a moment when he said. “I’m sorry too. I was disrespectful.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “Never thought I’d see the day when you two made a truce. I’m proud of you guys,” he said with a smug smile on his face, obviously proud of his conquest.

“Shut up,” his father and brother said in unison. Dean just laughed as his father started the engine and peeled onto the highway again.

* * *

_June 6th 2000_

It had been six days since they got Sam back.

Dean only got one hour of sleep the night before and now he was lying awake as the sun came up. He rolled over to look at his brother, who was out cold, sleeping pills still running through his system.

Dean felt guilty that seeing Sam this way was a relief. They had searched for him for nearly two years. Every day he was in their thoughts; where he was, who had him, what had happened to him. Now that he had some answers he wasn’t sure if he wanted them.

He should have expected this.

He should have known Sam wouldn’t be the same. He knew some sort of trauma was likely but he never expected this. He’d never seen anything like this.

Dean swallowed; blinking fast he managed to stave off any tears, and climbed out of bed. He took a quiet step towards his brother, watching each breath, and leaned over to gently brush his fingers over Sam’s cheek.

Never through his hair and never near his head.

It was brief and he pulled himself away to get dressed and made his way to the kitchen where he found his father and Bobby already at the table with mugs of coffee in their hands.

“Morning,” Bobby greeted, nodding his head over to the counter. “Coffee’s over there if you want it.”

“God yes,” Dean said, sighing with relief, and poured himself a large cup, taking a long drink.

“You’re up early,” John observed.

“So are you,” Dean retorted.

“Didn’t sleep much,” Bobby said. “I’m guessing we’re all in the same boat. How’s Sam?”

“Out cold,” Dean told him, glancing down at his bare feet, “The pills did their job, I guess.” He shrugged, unsure of what else he was supposed to say.

John reached over to pat his shoulder reassuringly. “He’ll get better,” he said softly.

Dean shot him a look. “Will he, Dad?” he snorted, “We don’t even know for sure what’s wrong with him. He’s so messed up. They messed him up,” he took a deep breath, “I was so happy when we found him, I thought I had my baby brother back, but I don’t. He’s not _Sam_ anymore.”

“Oh quit whining,” Bobby spat, his eyes glinting angrily as he stared at Dean. “So he’s changed, how could he not? So it’s more difficult now, well I’m sorry, Princess, but that’s how life is. You’ve been handed a shitty deck, I get that it sucks ass, I do, but quit acting like the world has wronged you. Did you stop to think that maybe your little brother has been through more than any of us could imagine? You should be thankful you still have a brother, some of us aren’t so lucky to still have the ones we love. I would have this over a dead Sam any day. At least we have a chance to help him. At least he’s alive!”

Dean sat in stunned silence for a moment before looking over to his dad who shrugged.

“Don’t look at me, son, I got the same speech.”

Dean nodded, dropping his head into his hands. “I’m sorry… I know. I just… I want him to be okay.”

“We all do,” Bobby said, his voice significantly softer. “We’ll help him.”

“I can’t hear him scream like that again,” Dean said. “He talks to himself and sometimes I don’t think he knows where he is. I can’t watch that much longer.”

“You’re gonna have to, son,” Bobby told him sympathetically. “I don’t doubt there’ll be more screaming. This is going to be a long road but we’ll get there. I’m looking up contacts who might know any doctors who know about hunters, makes explaining easier. Joshua and Caleb are hunting down information on what happened to your brother.”

Dean nodded gratefully, “Thank you.”

Bobby smiled and turned his attention back to his coffee. Dean did the same, glugging down the now-warm liquid quickly before heading over to pour another cup. He took the filled mug out to the porch for a smoke. He leaned on his elbows against the porch railing as he lit his cigarette, taking a long pull. He closed his eyes, letting the summer breeze wash over him.

“Mind if I join,” Dean opened his eyes to peer at his father who was resting with his back on the wooden rail. He had a cigarette between his teeth, waiting for Dean to nod before he lit up.

“Should’ve never let you take up the habit,” John said as he breathed out the smoke. “Sam made me feel guilty enough about doing it. Now that you’re a chimney, I can’t help but feel it’s my fault.”

“I’m twenty years old, Dad,” Dean smirked. “Pretty sure I’m grown up enough to make my own decisions.”

“True,” John agreed, inhaling again and breathing it out in a sigh. “Bobby’s right, you know. Wallowing in self-pity isn’t going to help Sam.”

“I know,” Dean tapped the ash from his cigarette, watching the embers flake away into the make-shift ashtray. “It just hurts to see him like that. It hurts to know people did this to him. I always saw evil in black eyes and fangs; I never thought people would be more dangerous.”

“They weren’t people, Dean, they were monsters. Any person who hurts a child is a monster.”

The smoked the rest of their cigarettes quietly, lighting up seconds when they were done. Dean felt guilt wash over him; Sam would hate it if he knew he smoked, like a chimney, at least the old Sam would.

“Guys,” Bobby called from the kitchen. Dean quickly stubbed out his cigarette and hurried inside, every instinct on high alert these days.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Cool your jets,” Bobby smirked. “I heard someone moving around upstairs so I’m guessing Sam’s awake. I was gonna let him come down on his own but it’s been a while now, thought you might want to check on him.”

Dean was already out the kitchen before Bobby had finished speaking. He dashed up the stairs and he could hear his dad on his heels. Everything concerned with Sam was generally urgent these days and Dean cursed himself for leaving his brother alone.

The door to the bedroom Dean shared with Sam was closed, the way he’d left it, but he could hear shuffling and muttering on the other side. Dean turned the knob and pushed the door open slowly.

“Sammy?” he called, stepping into the room. He stopped after taking a step forward; the room was a mess. “Sam?” he called again.

There was a soft murmur coming from the other side of the room and Dean and John stepped over the clothes and bed sheets which were strewn across the floor. The drawers from the chest had been pulled out and the bed mattresses were turned over and hanging half-off the bed frame.

They found Sam wedged in the corner between his bed and the wall, his knees were up against his chest and he had his hands out, his index finger tapped each finger on his other hand as he muttered.

“Hey, Sammy,” John said, crouching down in front of his son.

Sam didn’t acknowledge that there was anyone else in the room, his eyes wide as he stared at his fingers.

“Can you hear us, Sam?” Dean asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed behind his father.

“I have ears therefore I hear,” Sam said, though his attention was on his hands.

“Good to know,” John said. “Want to tell us why you redecorated Bobby’s spare room?”

Sam blinked several times before looking up to his family. “It wasn’t Bobby’s spare room,” he told them, his face was sad. “I didn’t… I don’t… I… I…”

“Shh, It’s okay,” Dean soothed. “You’re okay, just take a breath.”

“I didn’t know,” Sam said insistently. “I thought it was a trick. How can I be there then be here? I thought it was a trick. I tried to find it, I thought it was under this room and if I pulled it away then I’d see the truth. But it was the same underneath.”

John turned to look at Dean with a look of complete confusion. “What does he mean?” he mouthed.

Dean sighed, “He thought he was back _there_ when he woke up and that Bobby’s house was a trick so he tried to find his… old room underneath it. I guess it makes a little sense.”

It didn’t make any sense but Dean didn’t like to make Sam think he was crazy even though he was.

John nodded, “Oh.”

He turned back to Sam who had gone back to counting on his fingers.

“Sam?” he caught his son’s attention. “You see us, right?” he gave an encouraging smile.

Sam cocked his head to the side and frowned. “I have eyes therefore I see,” he told them, staring at them both like they'd just said the dumbest thing he'd 

“Exactly, you know if we’re here then you’re safe and we got you out, remember that?”

“I remember. September, November, December, dismember,” he flinched at the pattern of words falling from his mouth.

“It’s okay,” Dean soothed, frowning because how was this _okay?_

“I shouldn’t,” Sam said quietly, “Not this.”

He was quiet for a moment, still counting on his fingers before he stopped, looking frustrated he turned his head to the empty space on the bed beside him and scowled. “Shut up!” he hissed, “You made me lose count.”

Dean felt his heart drop. Sam stared at the empty space a moment longer before returning to his counting. His father turned around, showing a look in his eyes which he had no doubt he shared.

“Sam? Who were you talking to?”

Sam didn’t say anything.

“Sam, listen to me for one second, please.”

His little brother put his hands around his ankles and rested his head on his knees, looking at him with full attention.

“Sam, who’s in this room right now?” John asked carefully.

“Me, you, Dean and him,” he replied, nodding his head towards the empty space he’d been speaking to earlier.

“Who’s 'him'?” Dean asked fearfully.

“He’s unimportant. He’s not meant to be part of the sys…system but he found a defect, deflect, reject,” Sam’s face twitched and scrunched up as his shoulders ticked. He winced and pushed himself back into the corner, pressing his cheek against the wall.

“It’s okay,” John said softly.

Dean pursed his lips; there _okay_ was again.

“I try… it’s all in my head… but it’s too hard to catch one piece… they’re too fast to catch.” Sam closed his eyes and a tear slipped down his cheek. “I try, I try, I fly, I die.”

Dean manoeuvred himself from the bed and closer to Sam; Sam pressed himself further away and brought his hands up to cover his face.

“Don’t hide from me, Sammy.”

“ _Sam_ ,” was the muttered reply, followed by, “Sam, Sam, lamb, little lamb.”

“Some things don’t change,” Dean chuckled. He leaned in closed. “Wanna show me your face?”

Sam shook his head.

“Why not? Me and dad want to see you,” Dean explained.

Slowly, Sam’s hands lowered from his face and he glanced sideways at them, his face still pressed against the wall. “You don’t want to see me,” he whispered, “You don’t want to see me this way, day, stay, stay,” he twitched with each word, wincing slightly when it was done. “It hurts you,” he continued, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Sam,” John explained. “We just want you to be okay.”

“I’m not okay,” Sam replied in a hushed tone. “I came back broken.”

“Then we’ll fix you,” Dean promised, Sam stared at him. “Haven’t I always fixed things?”

“Like you fix the Impala,” Sam mumbled.

“Sure,” Dean smiled when Sam began to perk up a bit.

“I like that,” he said, coming out from the corner, “When you fix her.”

“Good,” Dean chuckled. “Do you want to come downstairs? You should eat something and I’m sure Bobby wants to see you up and about.”

Sam nodded hesitantly and allowed Dean to pull him to his feet. The kid was actually the same height as his brother now, and it was something Dean was still adjusting to. The last time he saw Sam, the kid's head was below his chin. Dean placed a hand on Sam's back and escorted him from the room.

He managed to sit his brother at the table and give him a bowl of cereal with little difficulty, Sam even said ‘good morning’ to Bobby. Dean sat across from Sam, watching him slowly consume the bowl of Lucky Charms. Sam muttered under his breath to no one in particular between spoonful’s. Dean saw that as a step forward compared to the previous mornings when Sam would smash the crockery on the floor or stare blankly at his breakfast without taking a bite.

Dean smiled. Sam had had a bad start to his day but things were looking up for the first time in almost a week, even if it was such a small victory as Sam eating a bowl of cereal quietly, Dean would take it.


	3. Crash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of minor modifications to this chapter compared to the version that was posted on FF.net. Sam's mental state is supposed to be confusing, the nature of his issues will make sense in a few chapters time.

_July 20 th, 1998_

They were on the road for another hour before they found a motel. Dean had managed to steer his family away from arguing for the rest of the journey, distracting them with theories that vampires might actually exist. It was dumb, but he’d happily look like an idiot if it got his brother and dad agreeing on something.

“But Caleb had a case he never finished where the victims were drained of blood,” Dean insisted.

“Could’ve been a Djinn,” Sam reasoned from the back seat. He leaned over to grab a handful of M&Ms from Dean, pausing and scrunching up his face at the sight of sticky candy in his hand. “Ew! Dean, these have melted.”

“Serves you right for taking what’s not yours,” Dean sniggered, grabbing a handful for himself. “And _maybe_ it was a Djinn, but they don’t leave bite marks.”

“Probably a Rugaru then,” John interjected.

“A what-a-ru?” Dean asked, laughing.

His dad shook his head and smiled. “Boy, you don’t want to know. I haven’t come across one myself before, only heard stories from other hunters.”

“Ruga… whatever, sounds less believable than a vampire,” Dean pointed out.

“I’ll believe in vampires when I see some real evidence,” John said, smiling when he finally caught sign of an upcoming motel. “How do you reckon you’d take out one of those suckers anyway?”

“Easy,” Dean answered, trying to keep a straight face. “Throw garlic at him.”

“What? You’re going to season him to death?” Sam asked incredulously, licking melted chocolate off his fingers.

“We use salt all the time,” Dean retorted.

“Salt wards against evil, garlic is for Italian restaurants,” John said. He pulled into the motel parking lot, took one of the many free spaces and parked. “I’ll get a room, you two get the stuff out the trunk,” he ordered. John slid out of the driver’s seat and headed off to the main reception.

Sam and Dean sat for a moment before Sam leaned over the front seat.

“Thanks, Dean,” he said, poking him gently in the shoulder.

“For what?”

“For talking to dad and me. And for pretending you believe in vampires.”

Dean sputtered. “You knew? Why did you play along?”

“Because I knew what you were doing; you knew me and dad would agree on it. You know, I’m sorry you get caught between the two of us. I guess I never really noticed before.”

Sam hopped out the car before Dean could reply. They were quiet, understanding that the conversation was over. Sam was already pulling their duffels out the trunk, his skinny arms strained under the weight and Dean took them from him. Sam scowled at him good-naturedly.

Their dad was already heading along the path, he caught their attention and signalled to the room on the end before letting himself in. Sam and Dean followed him inside and dumped the bags on the nearest bed. The room was like usual; small with an even smaller kitchenette, an ancient looking TV and grim-looking bathroom. The room was decorated with an obscene amount of cactus imagery, obviously fitting the theme of the surrounding desert.

“I’m afraid they only had one double room so someone’s going to have to take the couch or the floor and seeing as I’m the head of this operation I get a bed,” John told them, not sounding that sorry at all.

“You mean, seeing as you’re a senior citizen and you have a bad back,” Sam muttered under his breath. Dean tried to hold in a laugh and ended up choking hard enough that Sam had to pat his back.

“What was that, Sam?” John asked. He didn’t look up from where he was lining the window sill with salt.

“Huh? I didn’t say anything, sir,” Sam replied innocently. He turned to Dean and smirked.

“I guess I don’t want to know what you two are talking about,” John admitted. He shrugged his jacket off and hung it on the back of one of the chairs in the small kitchenette. “Hit the shower then we’ll order in. One of you go ask at the desk about take-out nearby.”

Luckily, they managed to find a pizza joint in the nearest town that was willing to deliver to the motel. Being the youngest, Sam was last to take a shower, meaning the hot water was used up. Sam had been in the bathroom for a while, the water was still running, so Dean assumed Sam didn’t mind much.

“Sammy, food’s here!” he called, grabbing the largest pizza slice from the box.

There was a muffled reply of ‘I heard you the first two times!’. He heard the water cut off and Sam appeared a few minutes later with damp hair, dressed in pyjamas with a towel around his shoulders. He hurried over to the kitchenette and grabbed a slice of pizza, wolfing it down at record speed and going to have a second.

“Hey, Dad?” Sam put his half-eaten slice down on his plate and looked up sheepishly.

“Yeah?” John replied, attention still on the newspaper in his hands.

“Do you think we could talk about… _you know_?” he asked softly. He was stiff in his chair, arms crossed self-consciously.

“Yeah, I know,” John answered with a sigh, putting down his newspaper. “I’ll listen to you, then you listen to me. Sound fair?”

Sam beamed. “Yes, sir!”

He jumped up from the table and hurried over to one of the beds where his jacket lay, he fumbled around the pockets to pull out a letter and brochure. He bolted back to the table and handed it to John. His expression was the definition of excitement.

“Just read it, okay?” Sam pleaded. “That’s all I’m asking.”

John nodded and unfolded the letter, eyes skimming the page. Dean watched his dad curiously as his eyebrow went up. Dean could remember a few days earlier when Sam came home with a dopey grin on his face and a fancy letter his hand. His happiness was short lived when John said they were moving on; Sam had started bitching right there and then. John said he didn’t have time to read something from a school Sam didn’t attend anymore then they both just started yelling at each other and it went on for two days. Dean was interested now; he’d been so busy trying to keep everyone happy that he forgot to even ask Sam what the letter was about.

“Well…” Sam prompted with a hopeful look on his face.

Dean couldn’t take the quiet anymore and burst out, “What does it say?”

John just handed the letter over and began skimming the brochure and Dean could swear Sam was about to float of the ground he looked so pleased. The letter was made of some fancy paper which Dean assumed cost a good few bucks and the words were printed in fine ink. Dean read aloud;

_“Dear Mr Winchester,_

_We are pleased to inform you that after much consideration we have accepted your son into our academic programme._

_The Alliance Institute is a prestigious summer academic programme in which your child will further their education. We have scoured the country for twenty of the best possible candidates to take part in a two week schooling programme which will focus on furthering young minds._

_If you accept this opportunity for your child he will begin August 1 st 1998, transportation will be arranged from your location all expenses will be paid. For more information please refer to the brochure enclosed._

_Yours sincerely, Alliance Institution.”_

Dean finished reading and put the letter down on the table, “Only twenty kids got picked?”

“Yeah and I’m one of them!” Sam said excitedly.

“Did you apply for this without telling me?” John asked accusingly.

“No! No, Dad, I didn’t,” Sam swore, “I think schools refer kids then the Institute picks them. And they picked me!”

John looked sad and Dean could only guess it was the guilt of having to let Sam down, “I don’t know, Sam.”

Sam’s face fell and he slumped in his seat. “I thought you’d be proud of me,” he mumbled.

“God… Sam, of course I’m proud,” John sighed. “I just don’t see why you need to do this.”

“It would look so good for_” Sam slammed his mouth shut before he finished his sentence, looking a little shocked with himself. “It’s just something I want to do.”

“What we want isn’t always what we need,” John told him gently, “We need you with us, I’m sorry, Sam.”

“But it’s just for two weeks!” Sam argued before reigning in his emotions, “Dad, I never ask you for anything… Can you at least think about it?”

“I have thought about it, Sam,” John said shortly, folding up the brochure and putting it in his jeans pocket along with the letter, “End of discussion, now finish your food.”

Sam glared at his father across the table; he looked conflicted, no doubt desperate to argue his case yet not willing to push his dad any further away from the idea. Instead he hung his head and pushed his chair out, “I’m not hungry,” he said and went to grab his bag off the bed before disappearing into the bathroom.

Dean sighed, “It was fun while it lasted.”

“What was?”

“Peace,” Dean muttered in reply, pushing out from the table and heading for bed.

* * *

_June 17 th, 2000_

Dean watched his little brother through the kitchen window; Sam was playing with Bobby’s Rottweiler Rumsfeld. Sam had always had a knack with animals, bringing a stray back to the motel once or twice as a child and trying to hide it in the bathroom.

It was a warm day and the skies were clear, the sun making the old cars in the yard twinkle. Sam and Rumsfeld were chasing each other around, kicking up dust in their wake, the dogs tail wagged wildly and his tongue lolled out of his mouth; a pure look of happiness on his face as he looked up at Sam.

Sam had found a stick and was hurling it across the yard for the dog to fetch, he laughed happily when Rumsfeld trotted dutifully back with the stick in his mouth.

Sam had been like this for three days; the longest he’d been feeling up since he’d been back.

“How’s he doing?” John asked from behind, he was making notes from the little information Joshua and Caleb had sent. Their two hunter friends had set out on a mission to find what they could about Sam’s captivity and what had happened in those two years. So far, they didn’t know much.

John and Dean had been there when they’d rescued Sam but they didn’t stick around for long. Sam, the only person who knew what had happened, wasn’t willing to talk about his experience. They were only left to guess what had been done.

“He’s great,” Dean sighed. “He’s too great.”

“We’ve seen this before, Dean,” John reminded him. “It’s better than the alternative.”

“I know,” Dean agreed. “It’s just… he’s going to come back down again. When he comes down, he crashes.”

He watched Sam and the dog jump around excitedly before dropping to the ground, a smile on Sam’s face as Rumsfeld curled up into his side, licking gently at his cheek. Sam started pointing at the sky and appeared to be talking to the dog as he did.

“We need a doctor to diagnose him,” Dean went on. “He needs medication, or therapy, or something.”

“You know why we can’t do that,” John answered. “We’ll find our kind of doctor. I reckon Pastor Jim is the way to go but he’s still out of the country and we can’t get through to him.”

“I know,” Dean thought for a moment, then turned around to face his dad. “We could take him to _one_ appointment, just for a diagnosis, then if we need meds we can steal them. We’ve done it before.”

“We don’t know how Sam will react to a doctor’s office. And if a psychiatrist sees Sam panicking he’ll be shipped off to a rubber room.”

Dean nodded his understanding. His heart felt heavier with each passing day.

“I know you’re worried, Dean, but we’ll have to be patient,” John said. He paused for a moment, chuckling lightly. “I know that’s not one of our strong suits but we’ll have to wait for Caleb, Josh and Jim to get back to us. Then we can start getting him help.”

“You heard anything from Caleb and Joshua?” Dean asked, leaning against the kitchen wall. He drummed his fingers on his thigh, itching for a smoke.“Caleb says they cleared out. I guess we busted whatever they were doing,” John said. His expression turned grim. “They went looking for any files or documents but the place is deserted. The only thing they found were human remains.”

Dean didn’t breath for a few moments. “Human remains?”

“Caleb says there was a lot of ash; human. He’s guessing they could be some of the kids.”

“Oh, God,” Dean breathed, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Why would they kill them? They seemed quite determined to keep them alive - ”

“What are you talking about?” John and Dean almost jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice. Sam, who was standing in the doorway, had a puzzled look on his face.

“A… uh, a movie we watched,” Dean blurted out. “Right, Dad?”

Sam cocked his head to the side, “Why didn’t I see it?”

“Oh, it sucked, Sam,” Dean assured him. “Be glad you didn’t see it. You’d have hated it.”

Sam seemed to contemplate it for a moment before shrugging. “Okay, I guess.”

Suddenly, his face broke out into a grin. “Hey! Did you know Rummy can do tricks? Hey, one second, I’ll show you. Rumsfeld, sit! No, not shake, I said sit. Good boy!”

He dropped to his knees as Rumsfeld rolled onto his back and rubbed the dogs belly with more enthusiasm than Dean could ever muster for anything. “He fetches too,” Sam went on. “We ran around for hours and I’m _still_ not tired. Hey, could we go into town or something? Or just drive? I want to be _out_ and _do_ something. You know? We could just get in the car and she’ll take us away. She wouldn’t mind either. She loves us, you know?”

“How do you know that?” Dean dared to ask.

“I just do.”

“Did the car _tell_ you that?” John pressed.

Sam threw him an incredulous look. “She’s a car, she can’t speak."

“Okay, Sam. Why do you want to go for a drive? You haven’t been up for going out these past couple weeks.”

“I want to go everywhere. I am everywhere so going makes sense.”

John and Dean just stood there, struggling to find words to answer that.

“I feel… I feel like…” Sam went on, concentrating hard before jumping to his feet and snatching the Impala’s keys from the kitchen counter and dashing back outside. It took Dean a second to comprehend what had happened. When he noticed his father sprint passed him, after Sam, he snapped out of his daze.

“Oh, shit.”

When he got outside he could see Sam in the driver’s seat of the Impala, laughing. Their dad was banging on the window, demanding that Sam open the door. When the engine rumbled Dean’s heart jumped. Sam couldn’t drive; having spent his sixteenth year of life having God knows what done to him. And the only place to go in Singer Salvage was out the gate and onto the road or into a pile of junkers.

Dean planted himself in front of the car and caught his brother’s attention by slamming his hands down on the hood. Sam frowned, his hands still on the steering wheel.

“Sam, get the fuck out of the car or so help me!” he yelled. This was the first time he’d been _angry_ at Sam, and Sam knew it. Sam’s smile vanished, replaced with a look of complete devastation, face crumpling, tears falling. He dropped his head onto the steering wheel, his shoulders shaking.

“Shit,” Dean muttered. He made his way over to the car, leaning over the hood to look at his brother through the front window. John was still fiddling with the door, calling to Sam to open it.

“Sammy,” Dean said gently. “Open the door, please.”

Sam shook his head frantically, his hands pressed over his ears. He seemed to crumble apart, sinking down onto the bench seat. So much for a good day. Dean had a serious urge to stick something with a knife, preferably whoever had done this to Sam.

At some point, John must have managed to break into the car. He was yanking the door open, leaning inside, speaking as softly as he was able. Sam was curled up on the car seat, his hands still clamped over his head with his eyes squeezed shut.

“Sam, open your eyes,” John coaxed, tentatively reaching out a hand, only to be met by a swift kick. Dean buried his face in his hands, if he hadn’t yelled at Sam… things might be different for a little while longer. Sam was so far from who he used to be. Aside from the obvious psychological issues, the mood swings were something to watch out for. When he was up, he was energetic and impulsive. When he came down, he came down at break-neck speed; becoming inconsolable and often combative and full of rage.

A rumble crawled down the path, Bobby’s truck slowed and he turned into the yard with a questioning looking on his face. He hopped out of the truck, adjusting his cap to shield his eyes from the sun. Dean ran over to meet him.

“He’s not doing well,” he informed Bobby breathlessly. Cigarettes were seriously messing with his lungs.

“Aw hell,” Bobby cursed. He gently patted Dean on the shoulder. “It was going to happen eventually.”

“It’s my fault. I yelled at him then it was like a switch flipped. But I had to stop him, Bobby, he was going to take Baby for a joyride. He could’ve gotten hurt.”

“Not your fault, kid,” Bobby his grip on Dean’s shoulder. He pushed Dean forward a little and they made their way over to the Impala.

“Sam, stop!” John commanded, only to receive Sam’s foot to his face. He was knocked back with a grunt, managing to catch himself by gripping the car door. Despite the kicking, he managed to lunge into the car and grab Sam, holding him tight and pinning his arms to his sides. Sam was frantic.

“Get off!” he cried, tears staining his cheeks. “Don’t touch me! Get away! I hate you!”

Dean and Bobby each grabbed a flailing leg, clamping down tightly until they could lift him. Dean narrowly avoided spit to his face and John had to press a hand over Sam’s mouth. Sam struggled harder, breathing hard through his nostrils.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” John whispered as they manoeuvred themselves up the porch steps and into the kitchen. “Just calm down. I’m taking my hand away now, okay?”

Sam sagged. John shifted him into his arms and turned away, up the stairs. Sam buried his head in his dad’s neck, shaking.

 He was completely still by the time they got him to the bedroom. John lay him down and Dean covered him with a blanket, unsure of what else to do. Sam just turned on his side to face away from them. Dean took a seat on the end of the bed, waiting for their dad to leave the room. John lingered, but he left without another word.

 “You know I was just worried about you, right?” Dean asked. Sam stared at the wall. “I was scared you would get hurt. I’m not angry at you. I just want you to be alright.” 

He waited for a moment, hoping for some kind of reaction. He got nothing. Dean sighed.

“I’m gonna stay in here to keep you company, Sammy,” he said. It wasn’t to keep him company; Sam wasn’t company when he was like this. Dean was staying in case Sam tried to harm himself, the three healing cuts he could see on Sam’s arm were unfriendly reminders that Sam couldn’t be trusted alone.


	4. Faceless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: suicidal themes  
> Also, posting this was taking a long time because I'd planned to correct each chapter as I went, but I decided I'm just going to post the chapters the way they were posted on another site, without corrections. So, there may be plenty mistakes that hopefully you choose to ignore.

_July 25_ _th_ _, 1998_

Sam had barely spoken to their dad in five days.

Dean could feel the anger bubbling under the surface of it all. His dad was furious; occasionally muttering about his _pain in the ass kid who needs to be taught a lesson or two_. Sam just sat and glared, pretending he didn't care. Dean knew Sam cared too much. Sam was devastated.

It was worse considering the fact that they were sitting in a crappy motel room, poking at their Chinese takeout, and no one was saying a word. Sam was sat on one of the beds with a book laid out in front of him, scribbling down notes for whatever school assignment he had going on, his food was ignored by his side. John sat in the kitchenette, almost stabbing his noodles; he gave up on the food and took a sip of whiskey.

Dean sighed, shoving a mouthful of greasy takeout into his mouth; for something to do more than anything. He'd unconsciously situated himself in the centre of the room; between Sam and John. He was so desperate for someone to just _talk_. Just say anything please God.

"Sam, I want you to get your GED," John said.

Anything but that.

Dean choked on his noodles, managing to recover himself in time to feel himself caught between the glares Sam and John were sending each other.

"No," Sam replied, his voice was cold, matter-of-fact.

"No?" John raised an eyebrow; Dean could swear he sneered at Sam. Three glasses off whiskey were finally surfacing; Dean could see it in the glassiness of his dad's eyes.

"I'm not getting a GED, I'm going to take_" Sam stopped, rolling his shoulders as if he were warming up to fight, in a way he was.

"You're taking what?" John demanded. Dean assumed his father knew the answer; he was practically bristling with anger.

"I'm taking the SATs," Sam replied, casual and calm. That confidence was so unnatural in Sam when it came to arguing with their dad, normally he was loud and passionate, sometimes a bit sarcastic, but he was never so commanding. He was never like their dad.

John stood up, the chair scraping the floor as he did, he seemed to fill the room, "You'll do as I say, Sam," he thundered.

"No I won't!" Sam yelled, slamming his book closed, "I don't want to hunt!"

"Do you realise how selfish you are?" John growled, "You want to go to college is that it? That's more important that saving people? More important than our family?"

"Don't assume I don't care!" Sam was seething, "Of course I fucking care!"

"Don't fucking swear!" John bellowed, Dean absently wondered if the motel manager would come knocking on the door, "And obviously you don't give a damn if you're willing to throw away people's lives for a fucking diploma."

"Guys… please," Dean tried to speak up, but he felt so helpless. They both ignored him anyway.

"No, Dad, I want to be _safe_. I want a normal life. I want to be happy," Sam was shouting, angry, but Dean could hear it for what it was. Sam was pleading.

"Normal?" John spat, "There is no normal. You should know that."

"What about mom, huh?" Sam was getting cocky and Dean knew he was creeping into dangerous territory but he couldn't bring himself to do something. He didn't _know_ what to do.

"Don't you dare mention your mother," John warned. Sam threw a look that screamed defiance.

"Why not?" he asked, "She was _my mom_ too; everyone around here seems to forget that. Do you know what it's like to miss someone, to _love_ someone, you never even knew?"

"No, I don't, Sam," John lowered his voice, looked almost sympathetic.

Sam didn't look like he was cooling down anytime soon, he lowered his gaze and spoke so quietly that they only just heard it, "She would hate that we were raised this way."

For a small moment their dad looked like he'd been struck, but he hid it well, taking a deep breath and hardening his voice, "You will get your GED, you will be a part of this family and you will do. As. I. Say."

Sam rolled his eyes. He _rolled_ his fucking eyes. Dean could swear the air got sucked out of the room for a split second at that moment. John's eyes screamed rage and he took a few steps forward only to crash into his oldest son. Dean had his hands on his father's chest; he looked up at him and dared him to go any further.

"Don't you dare touch him," Dean growled, "You don't touch him."

John sputtered, stumbling back a bit, as if he only just realised what he was doing, "I wasn't, I would never," he said helplessly, " _Dean…_ You know I wouldn't."

Dean stared him down a moment longer, chest heaving at the slight possibility that his dad, their _father_ , could have hit Sam. He turned around; his little brother was plastered against the headboard, his eyes wide and his lips parted as if his mouth was frozen around the words that struggled to come out.

"You okay?" Dean asked. Sam gulped then nodded.

Facing back to his dad he raised his eyebrows. _I'm the kid, you're meant to fix this, not me_. John seemed to get the message and straightened up but his whole exterior seemed to soften.

"Sam…" he began, "You know I would never_" his voice caught in his throat, unable to even say it.

"I know," Sam whispered. His voice was small, cracking slightly as though he was holding back tears. He straightened up and cleared his throat, "I know you're trying to protect me. I know that, but I can't_"

Sam shook his head, like he was telling himself to shut up.

"Please, Sam, for once do as I say," John begged, Dean thought he sounded pitiful.

"I can't," Sam replied, a tear slipping down his face, "I have to get out of this life."

That was like a punch to the gut for Dean. _This life?_ This life was _their_ life. They were a family.

"Get out?" he whispered, "Get away from us?"

Sam sobbed, "No…" he said, "Never that. I just don't want to hunt anymore."

He sounded so helpless and impossibly young, tears glistening in his eyes as he stared at them, pleading for them to understand.

"I want to go to college," he whispered, taking a stuttering breath as he tried to wipe away the tears and Dean could see how angry Sam was with himself. Winchesters don't cry, especially not in front of John.

"Sam, you're only fifteen," John reasoned, "You'll change your mind in time."

Dean shook his head because did their dad even know his youngest son? Dean dropped his head into his hands when it finally hit him. Sam was going to leave them. Today or in five years, eventually, Sam would go his own way. Dean wondered if he'd know this all along but had chosen to ignore it.

"I won't. I'm sorry," Sam said, and he sounded like he meant it.

"So that's why you want to do that programme," It seemed to finally hit John that his youngest was serious, Dean watched his face crumble behind the ever stoic John Winchester mask, "You wanted to do that for college?"

Sam seemed only capable of nodding at this point.

"Okay then," their dad said. Both boys looked up in disbelief but Dean saw it quickly, he knew both members of his family better than anyone and he knew what he would say before the words came out of his mouth, "Pack your bag, Sam."

"What…" Sam breathed, eyes darting to Dean. Dean tried to control his emotions; his little brother was looking at him, begging him to explain, to make sense of what was happening. Dean avoided looking at him; he knew he'd cry if he did.

"You're going to Pastor Jim's," John explained, like a General giving orders, "You'll attend the programme and when you return you will register for high school in Blue Earth. Jim will look after you."

"Dad… please don't send me away," Sam begged helplessly.

"You can take your SATs and go to college, you'll have the life you want," John went on as though Sam hadn't spoken, "But understand, Sam, you can't have both lives, you can't be a part of this job and attend college."

"I know, Dad, but_"

"No, Sam, you make your choice now."

Sam sat there for a moment, looking ready to break, looking completely alone. _He is alone_ , was the morbid thought that popped into Dean's head as he sat there, feeling numb. Then Sam wiped his eyes and straightened his shoulders, grabbing his duffel and tossing his meagre possessions into it, and then he disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Dean turned to his dad who looked shell-shocked. John really believed Sam wouldn't do it, he thought the threat would keep Sam with them, he thought Sam would keep rebelling and say _no, Dad, you can't make me leave_.

What John didn't realise was that Sam thought his dad was throwing him out, _abandoning_ him.

"Dad, do something," Dean begged.

John didn't answer. John was too stubborn to apologise to Sam or admit to that he needed him and Sam was too stubborn to beg at this point.

The bathroom door creaked open and Sam stepped out, wearing a jacket with his duffel slung over his shoulder. His eyes were glossy and red but he kept his face neutral, like he couldn't care less.

"I, er, I'll go to the bus station then," he said, his voice sounded shattered.

John was frozen for a moment, like he was still taking in the situation, finally he spoke, "We'll take you."

Somehow they ended up in the car, driving to the bus station; John had just hung up the phone.

"Jim said he'll take you." Dean scowled. _Take you_. As if Sam was a stray puppy no one wanted.

"Okay," came the monotone reply from the back seat.

Dean just sat there screaming in his head to _say something_. _Don't let him leave_. He was still screaming when his dad purchased a ticket and handed it to Sam, as he made the arrangements with Bus Company to transfer a minor, as they waited for the bus to arrive. He couldn't bring himself to speak. Nothing he said would matter, not at this point.

Then they were in front of a bus, headed for Minnesota, and Dean still couldn't speak, couldn't believe this was happening. Sam and John just stood there like it was an everyday occurrence.

John turned to Sam, "Look after yourself," he said, then reached out like he was going to hug his son only to catch himself and simply pat him on the shoulder.

Sam nodded obediently.

Dean grabbed his brother and pulled him into his arms and whispered in his ear, "Please don't go, Sammy, don't…"

He didn't know what else to say and when he pulled away and kept his hands on Sam's shoulders Sam looked at the ground.

"I'll call you, okay," Dean promised, a tear slipping down his cheek when he realised he couldn't do a damn thing. Sam nodded and hopped on the bus, showing his ticket to the driver. He took a seat at the back; wincing when the doors closed as if it physically pained him.

As the bus pulled away Sam watched them, that pleading look had never left his eyes. Dean watched his little brother cry into his hand when he thought they couldn't see them anymore then rounded on his father.

"How could you?"

"It's what he wanted."

"No, he thought you didn't want him anymore, he thought you kicked him out."

"Don't take that tone, Dean; you didn't do a damn thing either."

_I didn't but I didn't tell him to leave_.

"He's safe with Jim, we'll see him again and he'll come back," John said, like he really knew that, "He needs time to sort his head out."

Dean nodded; he had no choice but to believe that they hadn't pushed Sam away. The bus finally rounded the corner off the main street and Sam was gone. They wouldn't see him again for a long time.

* * *

_June 20_ _th_ _, 2000_

Sam didn't get out of bed for two days.

Dean sat with his brother the whole time, trying to get him to eat or sleep or wash. Just get up. Do anything but lie in bed and stare at the wall.

He can remember the day before, Sam was shivering and Dean wasn't sure if it was the cold or if he was just shaking, he pulled a blanket up over him anyway. He talked to him, constantly, trying to get some kind of reaction but it was like Sam had checked out. The only thing that told him otherwise was as he tucked the blanket around Sam his little brother said something.

"Kill me."

It was so quiet, rough, from a disused voice, and Dean almost missed it. He almost wished he did.

"Sammy…"

But Sam closed his eyes for the first time in two days and Dean just wanted his brother to sleep. He sat back on the wooden chair he'd been occupying and cried. It was quiet, he made sure of that, but Dean was a master at schooling his emotions and he only allowed a few tears to fall.

It was the third day that Sam finally changed. It was like his brain couldn't decide how he was going to be; one day he was distressed by the voices in his head, another he was too full of despair to move, the next he wanted to run a marathon.

Dean woke up that morning, annoyed with himself for falling asleep. He was quickly panicked when he realised Sam wasn't in bed anymore. He shot up in bed, almost winding himself in the process, and hurried to check the rest of the rooms on the second floor of Bobby's house.

Empty.

He leaped down the stairs and turned into the library, breathless. Sam was in the room, facing the wall, brushing his fingers over the faded wallpaper as he muttered.

"Sam?" Dean called softly, taking a cautious step forward. Sam didn't seem to hear him, moving along the wall, his hand never leaving the paper as he dragged it.

"What's going on?" Bobby called from behind. Dean swung around and hissed at them to be quiet. Bobby and John came further into the house and peered around the doorway. Bobby gave Dean a sympathetic look and took a step back. He knew to keep his distance unless he was needed. John waited just past the doorway as Dean carried on forward.

"Sammy? Can you hear me?" he asked. Sam looked up but his eyes wandered over the three of them before coming back to the wall. Dean came forward until he was face-to-face with his brother, taking in the faraway look in Sam's eyes he braced himself.

"Look at me, Sam, can you do that for me?"

"I'm not ready," Sam said, "It's too soon… you promised."

"Sam, I think you're confused, okay?" Dean tried to catch his brother's attention, ducking down to get in his line of sight.

"I already did the… the," Sam scrunched up his face in frustration and pressed his forehead into the wall, "When can I… I need, I want them. Please."

"What do you need, Sam?" Dean asked patiently.

"Them… I need them. I'm sorry I was bad," a hand snaked up around his ear and he grimaced, "It's too _loud_."

"Nothing's being loud, Sam," Dean told him, "C'mon, Sammy, come back to me."

"They never c…came, brain, maim," Sam twitched with each word, ticks still ran through his shoulders when he was finished speaking, "Can't stop…," he jerked, looking over at the far corner, "Quiet… p-please…"

"Sam, look at _me_."

Sam obeyed, looked up to Dean but Dean wasn't sure if Sam saw _him_. Sam looked so tired, so defeated.

"Is it another… another t-test?" Sam asked, "I already…"

Sam trailed off and didn't seem like he had much more to say. Dean spoke up, "What kind of test Sam?"

Sam laughed. It was cold and dark and it terrified Dean. Sam's laughter died down, but he didn't stop as he looked up at Dean.

"Is this a test?" he asked, laughing harder when he'd said it, as if it were some kind of joke. _All of this is a joke; Dean's still waiting for the punch line_.

"No tests, Sam."

"Is _that_ a test?"

Sam laughed harder until he couldn't stand anymore and slid to the ground, his fingers scrunched in his hair, his back to the wall. Dean followed him to the floor, kneeling by his side. Sam stopped laughing and looked up at him, curious.

"Why can I never see your face? Even the orderlies wear masks," he whispered.

"I'm not wearing a mask, Sam," Dean informed him, trying so hard to keep himself calm. Sam had never been this bad before, he'd always been able to _see_ them.

"I'm not pro…progressing, digressing, regressing," the twitches were harder that time and a tear leaked out and slid down Sam's cheek, "You can't dig and dig… you went too far and they bled. Red. Dead. You hit the nerve and hacked at that too. You weren't good at it. I saw it and it _hurt_. You comforted a nurse when they died, she cried, cry baby. 'We're doing such good work'."

"Oh, God…" Dean muttered, he carefully put a hand on Sam's shoulder, causing Sam to jerk briefly before he settled down. Sam just stared over his shoulder, hands shaking. "Sam, I'm gonna get you up and we'll get you comfortable, okay?"

Sam just blinked slowly, as if he were giving permission.

"Do you know where you are, Sam?"

"Everywhere."

Sam was pliant as John helped Dean get him on the couch in Bobby's library, Sam stayed sitting up, hunched forward slightly with his shaking hands on his lap.

"We play hide and seek," Sam said.

"Who does?" John asked, wrapping a quilt around his son's shoulders. Sam jerked when the phone rang, eyes flicking around like he couldn't figure out where the noise was coming from. Bobby hurried to the kitchen to answer, sending the Winchester's an apologetic look.

"Such good work," Sam mumbled.

"What work?" Dean questioned.

" _What work?_ " Sam smirked, "I always work… I have a reason!" Sam raised his voice, sounding so insistent and a little irritated, the whole time he never made eye contact, "I have a reason. I'm reasonable. Treasonable. They won't give me a mission even though it's law, saw, claw."

He smirked again even as his shoulders ticked down his arms and into his fingers.

"Please, Sam, look at us," Dean begged.

Sam looked up at them and frowned, "How can I look when I can't see your face?"

"If you can't see it, feel it," Dean crouched down in front of his brother, ignoring the way Sam leaned away, "Go on. Touch my face then you'll know it's me."

Sam looked at them both accusingly, like he couldn't figure out if they were lying. Eventually, he reached out slowly and touched the tip of Dean's nose, the contact seemed to surprise him and he ended up putting both hands on Dean's face, finger's tracing it as his face scrunched up with concentration.

"Dean…" he breathed, "I couldn't see…"

"I know, buddy, it's okay."

"It was so bright then the lights went out and I couldn't _feel_ , I couldn't _see_."

"I know," Dean said, finding it so easy these days to lie to his brother. He didn't know, he didn't know a damn thing anymore. "You can see now though?"

"I'm tired," Sam muttered, either not hearing the question or choosing to ignore it.

"Go to sleep then," John said, a large hand resting on Sam's shoulder. Dean found it strange how warm and patient his father was these days, it was a shame Sam couldn't comprehend that.

Sam nodded, though he sat for a few minutes counting his shaking fingers, an odd assortment of numbers being muttered under his breath.

"You can do that lying down," John told him. Sam just nodded again, still counting his fingers, over and over. Their dad sighed and gently pushed Sam down onto the couch, pulling the quilt more securely around him.

Sam stopped counting his fingers, still murmuring numbers to himself.

"Last time you slept on here you slept the whole night," Dean reminded him but Sam was already half asleep, lazily nodding his head in agreement. A soft wet nudge pressed against his hand and Dean looked down to find Rumsfeld staring up at him.

"Watch him, okay?" he asked the dog. Rumsfeld cocked his head to the side and did what he was told, curling up on the floor by the couch. Dean smiled, glad that Sam seemed to have someone who understood him in a way.

It was odd but ever since Sam had been back, Rumsfeld seemed to know when he was needed by Sam. Dean shrugged and headed to the kitchen where Bobby and his dad were talking quietly.

"What's going on?" he asked. The older men looked up, having just noticed him and smiled.

"Jim called, got all of our messages," John told him.

"I filled him in on our situation, he's desperate to see Sam," Bobby added, "Started spewing some crap about God watching over him. Anyway, Jim has a contact who can help; a psychiatrist he helped out a few years back when the ghost of one of her patients was haunting her office. He's getting in contact now so we're waiting for an answer."

Dean closed his eyes and breathed out for what seemed like the first time in two years. Something was finally going right.


	5. Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1998, Jim realises something's wrong.  
> 2000, Sam and Dean go to the store.

_July 30_ _th_ _, 1998_

Five days without Sam felt like a lifetime.

He couldn't get the image of his brother crying on that bus, crying because his dad had sent him away, out of his head. Dean had just stood there and done nothing and had never been as angry with someone as he was with himself now.

John went on with business as usual, like nothing had changed, but Dean noticed every time his father's eyes would flick up to the rear view mirror to check on Sam and the flash of guilt that crossed his face.

"This is getting stupid," Dean muttered to himself as his dad paid for gas. He shook his head and inserted a Motorhead tape, wishing so badly that Sam would whine about loud music from the back seat.

The road felt so long and empty. John and Dean barely spoke so Dean turned up the music to fill the silence. His dad didn't even complain; Dean suspected he felt the same way.

When they arrived in the town where their next job was Dean found himself staring at the high school as they passed, thinking about how Sam would've been enrolled there.

"He's fine," John interrupted his thoughts, Dean turned away from the window and frowned, his dad smirked, "I can hear you thinking from here."

"He's not fine," Dean said, "He thinks we hate him."

"He's a smart kid, Dean, he doesn't think that."

"Has Jim called recently?" Dean asked, ignoring his dad's comment.

"I've been with you the whole time," John pointed out, "Why don't you call him when we get to a motel; I bet Sam can't wait to talk to you."

Dean sighed and leaned into the window, "I just let him leave."

"So did I," John said sadly, "And I was too goddamn stubborn to do anything about it… at least he can have the life he wants. We'll visit him when we can. Maybe he'll even change his mind."

"You really think that, Dad? We blew it."

"He's not gone, son, he's just in Minnesota."

_But he's not with me,_ Dean thought. The ride to the motel was silent, they didn't talk until they got into the room and John handed Dean his phone and said, "Call him," then he disappeared into the bathroom.

Dean waited for the sound of running water before he punched in Jim's number. His knee bounced up and down as the phone rang and he almost thought no one would pick up when finally Jim answered.

"Hello?"

"Jim!" Dean exclaimed, "Hey, uh, how're you?"

"I'm well, Dean, but I'm guessing you didn't call for chit chat with me."

"No, sir, sorry. Is Sam around?"

"Of course, he's in the church, wait one moment and I'll get him for you."

There was a crackling sound as Jim set the phone down then echoing footsteps in the distance. He could hear Jim calling for Sam softly in the background and a muffled conversation before the phone was picked up again.

"Dean?"

"Hey, Sammy."

"Hey."

There was a moment of silence as Dean listened to the sound of Sam sigh on the other end. Dean cleared his throat, remembering that he should speak.

"So, how are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Good, that's good," Dean answered, finding the conversation very slow, "What were you doing in the church?"

"Huh? Oh, I was just helping Jim with a few things," Sam replied, "Er, what, what about you? What are you and Dad doing?"

"Regular old salt and burn. Dad reckons we'll be out of here in a couple of days so maybe we can come visit you in Minnesota."

"I'm leaving for that programme in two days, Dean, so I won't be here."

"Oh yeah. So you all ready for that?"

"Mmhmm," Sam answered, sounding distracted.

"Sammy?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I was writing something down for the programme, what were you saying?"

"I asked if you had everything ready," Dean reminded him.

"Yeah, I already packed. It wasn't really hard though; I don't have a lot of stuff. Jim offered to buy me some book and clothes and stuff but it didn't feel right. I mean, he already has to look after me now."

"Sam, I bet he'd be glad to give you that stuff. You're not getting in his way, you know that, right?"

"I know," Sam said, Dean didn't buy it.

"Sam…" Dean took a breath, "You know we didn't want you to go?"

"Then why did Dad tell me to leave?"

"He didn't," Dean argued, "You chose to go, I know that_"

"No, Dean. You don't know. Dad said that if I wanted to go to school that I wouldn't be a part of this family anymore."

"He didn't say that, Sammy."

"It's _Sam_ ," his little brother replied shortly, "I only left because Dad didn't have the balls to tell me he didn't want me around."

"Of course he wants you around," Dean said angrily, "We both do! He only said that because he thought you would do the opposite of what he said; like you _always_ do. He thought you'd stay."

"So he tried to manipulate me; real A+ parenting right there."

"Sam." Dean hissed, "I know he makes mistakes but he has always done his best for us, you should be grateful."

Sam sniffed on the other end, "I have a lot to do. I should go."

Dean hung his head, "I'm sorry, Sam, I know none of this is your fault… this is just a real messed up situation, you know?"

"Yeah… I'll see you soon, Dean."

"Sam…"

"Yeah I know… bye, Dean."

"Bye, little brother."

Sam hung up before he'd even finished speaking. Guilt washed over him; it was wrong to get mad at Sam, he's just a kid, he shouldn't be the responsible one. That was Dean's job. The phone was still in his hands when his father came out of the bathroom, he was wearing fresh clothes and had damp hair. If he noticed the way Dean stared longingly at the cell he didn't say anything, just patted him comfortingly on the shoulder before they headed out to research at the library.

* * *

_August 15_ _th_ _, 1998_

"Wake up."

Dean was roused from the first real sleep he'd had in two weeks, the thought that he would be heading to Minnesota soon to see his brother had made him restful. He groaned as he sat up, rubbing grit from his eyes, and squinted at the artificial light of their motel room. It was still dark outside and Dean glanced at his watch to find that it was nearly three in the morning.

"Dad… What's going on?" he asked, stifling a yawn.

"We're going to Minnesota, now, get your stuff packed."

A bucket of icy water couldn't have woken him up more effectively than those words and he threw back the covers and was on his feet so fast the room spun.

"Is it Sam? What's wrong?" he asked urgently, the fear running through him caused his heart to pound hard in his chest.

John froze, his shoulders dropping as he put his half-packed duffel bag on to his bed.

"Jim called," he said, "Sam was meant to come home yesterday and Jim can't get through to that education programme."

"What do you mean Sam was mean to be home _yesterday_? Where is he, Dad?"

John stared at his oldest a moment, his Adam's apple bobbing, "He's missing. For over twenty four hours now."

Dean seethed, "Missing? Why the hell did Jim not call us sooner?"

"He was trying to find your brother first, he only called when he was sure. Dean, he's not responsible for this."

"Damn right he's not responsible! We are! We pushed Sammy away and now he's gone!"

John didn't say anything, just nodded solemnly. He cleared his throat and shoved more things into his duffel, "Get your stuff packed."

Dean did as he was told and they got into the car and onto the road in record time. It was quiet; no music, no discussion and definitely no Sam talking their ears off in the back seat. Dean turned around to find the back emptier than he ever could have imagined.

"We'll find him," his dad assured.

"How do you know?" Dean asked sadly, "Why is he gone? Did he run away? Did someone… was he taken?"

John took a deep breath, "I know he wouldn't leave without at least telling Jim. Sam wouldn't do that."

"So, so you don't think he's gone by his own free will?"

"No, ace, I don't."

Dean couldn't bring himself to talk for the rest of the journey and John seemed to be in the same boat. They got to Jim's far faster than they'd ever done and Dean reckoned his dad should have gotten a few speeding tickets.

Blue Earth was a quiet town with little to do, in Dean's opinion, but Sam had always loved going. He would spend a lot of his time with Jim; the kid seemed to hang on the Pastor's every word. His little brother also loved the church; as a child he would run and hide amongst the pews, as he got older he would disappear and Dean would find him sitting in one with his head bent down and his hands together. Dean had never told Sam he'd seen him praying.

The place looked the same as it always had when they pulled up in Jim's driveway, though Dean had last visited only a few months ago. Jim was standing on his porch, he was dressed in his church clothes, though his usual smartness was gone and he looked dishevelled.

Dean was out of the Impala before they'd even parked and he hurried over to Jim, he could hear his father's heavy tread behind him.

"Jim!" Dean just managed to gasp; his dad put a hand on his shoulder.

"What happened?" John asked, getting to the point.

Jim shook his head shamefully, "I was meant to…" he gestured for them to come inside. They followed him to the living room, ignoring the offer of a seat.

"I had tried to call Sam while he was away, to see how he was doing," Jim told them, "I couldn't get through to him so I rang their office number and the lady on the other end told me it was likely just a connection problem and that they would sort it out and that Sam would call me back."

"When was this?" John questioned.

"It was a couple days after he left. I got a call back and she told me they still hadn't fixed the problem but they would allow Sam to write to me in the meantime."

Jim picked a letter up off the coffee table, "I didn't think anything of it at the time but after… now that he's not come back I reread it several times. I was so stupid that I didn't see."

"See what?" Dean asked worriedly.

"This letter arrived one week ago," he passed it to Dean, "I only went back to check it when I heard nothing from him the day he was meant to come home. I was unsure what time he'd arrive so I rang but it said the number no longer exists."

Dean scanned the letter then looked up and frowned, "What's wrong with the letter… I don't see anything."

"Nor did I," Jim admitted, he moved over to them and took the note, holding it out for them to see. "I think it's a code, Sam sent us a code. It took me some time to figure it out. I should have noticed he's smart enough not to make spelling mistakes. You see, every word he spelled incorrectly has a letter which would make it right; I put them in order to get the message. He did it so subtly that I didn't even notice some mistakes the first time."

"What does it say?" Dean asked fearfully.

"It says _It's a trap. Help us."_

* * *

_June 28_ _th_ _, 2000_

It had been twenty eight days since they had rescued Sam and little over a week since his last episode.

Sam had been doing well since his breakdown. He wasn't up, he wasn't down; he was safely in the middle.

He had some OCD moments, he still seemed to hear things that weren't there or got a little confused now and then, but Dean thought he was the most stable he'd been in a while. Sam hadn't been violent, he hadn't lost reality and he hadn't hurt himself. Dean was taking this time for what it was worth.

"Hey, Sammy, wanna go into town?" he asked.

Sam looked up from a book he was reading, which Dean couldn't help but notice was all written in Japanese, and frowned, "I thought I'm not meant to leave the yard."

"Yeah that's right," Dean admitted. "You can only go if one of us lets you and comes with you. Today you've got me," Dean beamed at his brother, "Anyway I need to get out, the ladies have missed me long enough."

Sam raised an eyebrow and said, "Baka."

Dean blinked, "Pardon?"

"It's Japanese. It means 'idiot'."

"You speak Japanese now too?" Dean huffed. Sam had gained some language skills since they found him, having found out because he would occasionally speak to them or himself without using English. His Latin was perfect and Bobby confirmed that Sam knew at least three other languages, not including English. Dean would have to mention the addition of a fourth to the others.

"Wait… who're you calling idiot?"

"You," Sam replied simply.

"Yeah yeah very clever," Dean sighed, "But back to my question; wanna come into town?"

"I… I don't know," Sam said timidly.

Dean took a seat next to his brother on the couch. "You've been doing well, Sam, I think going out would good for you."

"But, but, butter," Sam winced, his fingers twitching, he settled down and turned to Dean. "I'm sorry."

"You don't apologise for stuff like that, you hear me?" Sam nodded. "You can't control it, it's not your fault."

"I can't fill the cracks," Sam said sadly. "I try but the glue melts in the heat."

"Sam," Dean patted his brother's shoulder to get his attention. "Don't get lost again, take a breath, okay?"

Sam nodded and took deep breaths in and out, his shaking fingers settled down.

"Good, Sammy, we can do this a different day if you want. It's up to you."

Sam thought a moment, his eyes darting to the corner every now and then. He nodded at the wall then turned back to Dean. "I'll come."

"Really, are you sure?" Dean asked, looking at the empty space Sam where seemed to see something.

"I know he's not really there, Dean," Sam said irritably. "I can't see his face anyway."

Dean thought for a moment before agreeing, "Okay, but if you start feeling… like something's wrong, you tell me, okay."

"Okay," Sam said and smiled. "Will she take us?"

"Huh? Oh, the Impala?" Sam nodded. "'Course she will."

Dean snatched the keys out of the locked drawer in Bobby's desk, any kind of key was to be put out of Sam's reach ever since his near-accident.

His little brother didn't have any of his own clothes so he gave him their dad's jacket to wear; a big leather one with tonnes of pockets inside where John usually kept weapons. They'd made sure to lock up anything sharp and dangerous, for everyone's sake, after Sam once turned up to dinner one night with three slices on his arm, luckily they didn't need stitches.

Sam seemed absolutely delighted to be in the passenger seat and Dean couldn't help but smile at the look on his face. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine rumbled to life, purring as they pulled out of the salvage yard and onto the road.

"She's seen so much," Sam said, flipping down the mirror in front of him before snapping it back up. "She's run so far and she still has miles to go before she sleeps. Kirei."

"Why does everything you say have to be a goddamn poem?" Dean teased, playfully flicking Sam in the shoulder.

Sam shrugged. "It's how the words dance in my head."

"Okay, fair enough."

Sioux Falls wasn't a particularly busy town but it was busy enough that Dean feared losing Sam, again. Sam seemed fascinated by it all, watching each person who passed him intently, receiving some annoyed looks as he did, Sam didn't seem to notice.

"Sam you stick with me, you hear?" Dean commanded. "If you can't find me, and I really hope that doesn't happen, you come back to the car and wait for me to find you."

Sam nodded, eyes still latching onto everyone and everything. He turned to his big brother and grinned.

"So many people," he told Dean. "So many stories and thoughts, so many connections I could get tangled up."

"That's nice, Sam," Dean replied, taking him by the arm and pulling him away from an elderly lady before he could pet her dog, "But Bobby wanted us to go to the store and be back for dinner so we gotta go."

Sam stared back longingly at the dog but allowed himself to be pulled away. Dean steered him into a clothing store first, Sam had been wearing Dean's hand-me-downs for too long, besides the kid needed something to call his own. They headed to the men's section and Dean gestured to it.

"See anything you like?" he asked.

"Why?" Sam wondered, frowning.

"We're getting you some clothes."

Sam shook his head. "But they don't have memories; that's why I like your clothes."

"Yeah, well, you can make new memories with these clothes. Now just pick something would you?"

Sam wandered forward and brushed his fingers over each garment he passed, messing up a display as he did which caused a worker to scowl at him and move over to fix it. Again, Sam didn't pay them any notice. He stopped in front of some plaid shirts and looked over to Dean, pointing at them. Dean went over to him.

"Which one do you want?" he asked.

Sam shrugged, "I don't know… which one do you like?"

Dean frowned but went along with it anyway, pulling out the cheapest one; a blue shirt, "This one?"

Sam nodded eagerly, trailing after his older brother as they moved over to t-shirts. Sam just picked whatever Dean suggested, which Dean would rather he didn't. The old Sam would've picked whatever he liked, if he'd had the opportunity to buy his own clothes rather than wear hand-me-downs, and he wouldn't have cared what anyone else thought about it.

They left the store with a shirt, jacket, jeans and sneakers; Sam insisted that he carry the bag when they left the shop. The whole time Sam looked like he might as well have been at Disney World, Dean wondered what his reaction would be if they _actually_ took him to Disney World.

They grocery store wasn't too busy, which Dean was thankful for, he didn't want to have to go to the checkout to ask for a call for his seventeen year old brother to be made over the speakers. Dean grabbed a cart and headed over to the dairy aisle, checking every so often to make sure Sam was with him. When he grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge he noticed that Sam was speaking Japanese to himself.

"Seriously, where did you learn all the languages?"

"They were good teachers when I was... there," Sam said cryptically as he read the back of a pot of strawberry yogurt. "I'd like this," he decided, and he put it in the cart. Dean stared after him as Sam wandered a little further ahead, it took him a moment to realise his mouth was hanging open. He pulled himself together and caught up with his brother.

"Wait, Sammy, they taught you to speak different languages?" he asked. Sam nodded and dumped three boxes of Oreos into the shopping cart.

"Do you know why?" he pressed gently.

"They were making us perfect," Sam replied absently, tossing some popcorn in too.

"Perfect?" Dean asked cautiously. Sam just shrugged, not looking like he was paying attention. Dean understood that the conversation was over. He didn't want to push Sam too hard, especially when they were in public and away from somewhere familiar. He checked the list Bobby gave him and grabbed a tin of chilli, trying to hold back from yelling when he noticed the mound of snacks Sam had piled up.

"Sam," he called, his brother looked back and raised his eyebrows as if he wasn't sure what the problem was. "Sam, we can't afford all this crap, you have to put it back where you found it."

Sam stayed where he was a moment, looking displeased, before doing what he was told. Dean felt a pang of guilt. "Okay, you can pick one thing to buy but I mean only one."

Sam smiled and decided to keep the yoghurt. They finished getting their groceries, which took longer than it should have because Sam liked to stop and read the back of nearly all the packets he walked by. The lady behind the till gave Sam a strange look as he muttered to himself, before turning to Dean and saying, "You're so brave to take care of him like that."

Dean scowled and said, "It's not _brave_ , it's my job. Stop staring at him like he's some invalid. Come on, Sammy."

He tossed the cash onto the till and grabbed the bags, dragging Sam out of the store by his arm. He huffed all the way back to the car and growled as he turned the key in the ignition.

"Some people…" he began, cut off by a small hissing sound. He turned to his brother who was opening a can of soda.

"Some people what?" Sam asked, taking a sip.

"Where did you get that?" Dean asked. Sam frowned, looking between Dean and the can then over his shoulder at the store.

"At the supermarket," he replied as if it were obvious.

"I can see that, Sam, but I know I didn't pay for it so how did you get it."

Sam blinked. "I got it off the shelf, then I put in my pocket," he recalled, clearly not seeing the problem.

"Yeah, but did you _pay_ for it?"

Sam shook his head and took another sip.

"You can't… you can't just…" Dean sputtered. "Sam, you don't steal stuff."

"Okay," Sam promised. "No stealing."

"Good."

Halfway back to Bobby's house Sam pulled a packet of strawberry laces from inside of his coat and offered one to Dean. During dinner that night John gave Sam a long lecture about how he shouldn't steal, to which Sam reminded him that they steal stuff all the time.

John said, "you don't take things you _want_. We take what we need. Don't steal candy, Sam, or do anything without permission for that matter."

They then made Sam empty his coat to find some popcorn and Oreos, which Sam began munching on as they stressed that stealing could mean he could be arrested and that the police might send him to a hospital. Sam took a bite of a cookie and shrugged.

"Not like I haven't been locked up before," he said to someone only he could see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I got the languages completely wrong, just let me know so I can change it.  
> The de-coded message comes from Lemony Snicket's A series of unfortunate events.


	6. Mandy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1998, John and Dean interrogate someone. 2000, Sam talks to a doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any medical information is to be taken with a giant lump of salt.

_September 21_ _st_ _, 1998_

More than a month and there was no trace of Sam. He was gone.

They'd checked everything about the programme but according to everyone they spoke to no such thing existed. The fact the nineteen other civilian children were gone meant the story made it to national news. It was hysteria at first, but as time passed the trail grew cold and the media lost interest.

John and Dean didn't report Sam's disappearance. It wouldn't do him much good anyway. They wanted him back, not shoved in front of cameras the moment he was found.

_Help us_. That's what Sam had said. Dean shuddered at the thought as he filled a bottle with holy water, straightening his face as he turned around. His father was pacing the devil's trap, glaring at the black-eyed man in the centre.

Dean hadn't come across many demons in his lifetime and he didn't want to but they had really lucked out when they found this guy halfway through a murder spree. He was unsuspecting, maybe a school teacher with messy hair, glasses and a goofy tie. He looked like the kind of teacher that would've been really passionate about his job, cracking corny jokes to the class.

"I heard about you Winchesters," it said excitedly. "Wasn't there another one of you?"

Dean snapped, and lunged forward as he yelled. "Don't talk about him!" John caught him around the middle and pushed him back.

"Dean," he said sternly. "If you can't keep it together then you'll have to leave. We won't get anything out of it if it knows it can mess with you."

Dean nodded his head, still glaring hard at the demon who was smiling back at him. He cracked his knuckles and paced, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. John turned back to the trap, idly pulling a knife from inside his coat.

"We could make this easier for everyone," he told the demon. "Just tell us where the kids are."

The demon frowned, looking genuinely confused. "What kids?"

John flicked his wrist, sending a spray of holy water from the flask in his hand over the demon; it screamed and writhed.

"Don't play with me," John warned. "You don't want to mess with me."

"I mean it," the demon hissed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Dean took a step forward. "Let me remind you then. Last month twenty kids were taken. There's no trace, nothing. They're all just gone. Now tell me what would be able to do that other than filth like you?"

The demon raised its eyebrow. "You mean those kids all over the news? We don't have anything to do with that. In fact, we were trying to find out what happened to them. They're important to us."

"What do you mean?" Dean questioned.

"Why don't you ask your daddy?" it sneered. Dean looked to his father who hadn't moved a muscle; he was still glaring hard at the demon.

"Dad?" Dean whispered. John just shook his head and said. "Not here."

Dean did as he was told. They spent an hour trying to get information out of the demon but it kept insisting that it didn't have anything to do with it; it said none of its kind were involved at all. John was getting frustrated towards the end, Dean could tell by the way he clenched his jaw, and he suspected a bottle of Jack would make an appearance that night.

He watched his dad chant the exorcism, the demon flung its head back, black smoke flooding from its vessel's mouth, scorching a mark in the ground as it went kicking and screaming back to hell. The man strapped to the chair coughed and groaned, Dean hurried over to give him some water.

"Thank you," the man said hoarsely. "Oh God. The things it made me do…"

"It wasn't you," John said.

"I can still remember some…" the man told them urgently, "It spoke to me. It wasn't lying… it doesn't have your boy…"

"We never mentioned Sam," Dean said.

"It knew though," the man replied. "It knows all of the children. They want them safe."

"Why are they interested in the kids?" Dean demanded. He didn't realise he'd gripped the man's shirt until his father pulled him away.

"I… I don't know," the man whispered. "It didn't say."

"That's okay," John assured him. "You've helped us enough. Dean, go take our stuff back to the car and start the engine. We're taking this man to the hospital."

They left the man at the hospital entrance, he'd thanked them over and over for saving him but Dean couldn't bring himself to be happy. He was glad the man was safe now but Sam was still gone. They booked themselves into a motel for the night, John called all their fellow hunters who had volunteered to help search for Sam. No one had anything to report.

After washing up Dean found his father standing outside the room, a cigarette in his hand.

"Sammy wouldn't like that," Dean told him, he could help but smile fondly.

"I know," John said, he stared guiltily at the cigarette before putting it between his teeth and inhaling. "But I felt myself needing one more than ever."

"Can I have one?" Dean asked. John raised an eyebrow but handed the pack over anyway.

"Any reason for this?" John asked, lighting the end of the cigarette for Dean.

"I'm nineteen," Dean argued. "Do I need to give my dad an explanation?"

"Maybe not," John said. Dean took his first inhale and choked on the fumes. He recovered himself and scowled at his dad who was laughing.

"That's gross," Dean wheezed.

"Everyone does that the first time," John assured him. "You don't have to finish it. It's a hard habit to kick."

Dean stared at the cigarette in his hand and rubbed it between his fingers thoughtfully. His father watched him silently as Dean took another inhale, more slowly this time. When he released it he barely coughed.

"I don't know why," Dean answered his dad's earlier question."Stress maybe."

"I know the feeling," John said light-heartedly. He sighed, his face turning serious. "We'll find your brother. I won't stop until we do."

"I won't either. Even if it kills me," Dean added quietly. When they were finished they went to a nearby diner to get some dinner. Dean no longer found enjoyment in food, he didn't find enjoyment in anything anymore, and he just mechanically chewed his burger, he always ordered whatever John got. They didn't have many conversations that weren't about the hunt for Sam.

"What did the demon mean?" he asked suddenly. His dad looked up from his journal and frowned. Dean elaborated, "It said the kids were important to them. When I asked it what it meant it said to ask you."

John stopped eating and put his pen down, sighing deeply.

"I've had a feeling for a while now that you're not telling me something," Dean said just loud enough for his dad to hear.

John scrubbed a hand over his face, "I don't know if a diner is the best place for it."

"I doubt anywhere is, Dad," Dean said hotly. "If this is about Sammy, you have to tell me."

John nodded, closing his eyes briefly, when he opened them he looked at Dean almost apologetically. "The night your mother… the night we lost her," he took a breath, "She died in Sammy's nursery."

"I know, Dad," Dean could only find it in himself to whisper.

"Something was there that night, it was there for Sam and I think your mother - she wasn't meant to be there."

"How do you know it was there for Sam?"

"I've had sources," John admitted, looking grim. "There are other children, like Sam, whose mothers died the same way. All on their six month birthday."

"Why do they want the kids?" Dean asked. His heart was pumping, the idea that something had been after Sam when he was only a baby made him feel nauseous. If Sam knew their mom died to protect him... "Oh God. This is messed up."

John gave a small nod of agreement.

"I don't know what they want," he admitted. "I know demons want them safe. I know they didn't take the kids."

"Who did then?" Dean demanded, suddenly aware that there were tears in his eyes, he wiped them away quickly.

"I don't know."

Neither of them were hungry anymore, they hastily paid for their meal and hurried back to the Impala. Dean was confused when John ordered him to pack. They hit the road as soon as they checked out.

"Uh… where are we going?" Dean asked as they passed a sign indicating that they were leaving town.

"Nebraska. We're going to see an old friend, though I'm not sure if they want to see me."

"Not many of your friends do," Dean muttered. John sent him a sharp glare before focusing on the road again.

"And why do we suddenly have to go to this bar?" Dean asked. John gave him a curious look which Dean didn't understand at first. It hit him, he was turning into Sam; he'd never questioned his father's orders before, that had been Sam's job. Sam was gone. Dean felt guilty to admit to himself that he and his father were partly to blame. When John let Sam leave he lost some of Dean's trust along with him.

"They run a hunter's bar. They get a lot of our folks in and out of there, a lot of information. Someone there might know something; we might even be able to get more hunters to help us look for him. If anyone can point us in the right direction for information it'll be Ellen."

* * *

_June 30_ _th_ _, 2000_

Dean came back into the room he shared with his brother. The coffee in his hand was steaming and he moved carefully so it wouldn't spill over the edge. He was up and dressed and hour earlier, eager to head over to Blue Earth.

He heard soft whimpers as soon as he pushed the door open, Sam was panting in his sleep, making distressed mumbles as he twisted himself in the sheets. Dean quickly set the mug of coffee down on a dresser and hurried over to his brother who had begun to cry out softly in his sleep.

"Sammy," Dean called. "Sam, it's just a dream. Wake up."

Sam turned his head away from Dean, his brow furrowed and sweaty. Dean gently shook Sam's shoulder, gasping when Sam grabbed his wrist, his eyes snapping open as he yanked it to the side, spinning Dean around and onto his back he pinned him down against the floor.

Dean choked at the suddenness of his back meeting the hardwood. Sam was sitting on his chest with Dean's wrists pinned uncomfortably.

"Sam…" Dean said cautiously, his little brother was staring down at him blankly. "Sam, let me go."

Sam didn't move, for a whole minute Dean tried to get through to him, the grip on his wrists getting painfully tight. Finally Sam blinked and looked down at Dean as if he had just noticed him, his eyes swept over the way he'd pinned his older brother down and his expression turned horrified.

Sam let go and scrambled off of Dean, looking utterly terrified. Dean pushed himself into sitting position, watching his little brother scoot away as his hands trembled violently.

"I didn't mean to…" Sam whispered, sounding distraught. "I n-never… I wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't," he gulped, the spasms returning in his stress.

"Shhh," Dean soothed, approaching him slowly. "I know that. You didn't mean to; you were having a nightmare and you got scared."

Sam just shook his head, rocking back and forth, banging his head against the wall as he did. Dean jumped forward and grabbed his shoulders. "Sam, don't do that."

"I was bad," Sam said shakily. "I hurt you."

Dean held out his hands to show his whole body, "Look, Sammy, not a mark on me, I'm fine."

Sam stared at him sceptically, his eyes sweeping over him as if he was checking for any blood or broken bones.

"You see? I'm good," Dean said and smiled encouragingly. Sam nodded hesitantly.

"We have an important day today, remember?" Dean asked, Sam frowned and shook his head. "We're going to Blue Earth to see Pastor Jim. He has a friend he wants you to meet."

"A doctor," Sam said, remembering. "They're going to fix my head?"

Dean sighed and pulled Sam to his feet,."Well, a kind of doctor. She just wants to talk to you, okay? No one will do anything you don't like. If you don't feel like talking today then we can just hang out with Jim. That good?"

"Good," Sam smiled sheepishly.

"Okay, let's get you washed up," Dean guided his brother into the bathroom where Sam immediately began to shed his clothes, Dean just managed to avert his gazed before Sam dropped his pyjama pants. "Remember I said you should warn me before you get naked?"

"Yeah…" Sam confirmed, sounding like he didn't really know what Dean's problem was. The sound of water hitting porcelain filled the room as Sam turned on the shower. Sam at least had the sense to pull the shower curtain closed and Dean turned around and sat on the closed toilet seat. This had been their routine for a month; Sam wasn't allowed to shower without supervision, he wasn't allowed to do anything.

The lack of boundaries was an issue. They hadn't taken Sam to a shop since the he'd helped himself to what he wanted only two days earlier. He seemed to do as he pleased when he was left to his own devices, John, Dean and Bobby often had to keep him in line.

Bobby almost lost his temper with the kid once when they found Sam in the library editing one of Bobby's ancient texts with his own annotations. Sam just shrugged and said it was inaccurate and needed to be fixed. When they looked at the book they saw that Sam's annotations were detailed and completely indecipherable.

Sam didn't give Dean any warning when he stepped out of the shower, luckily Dean already had a towel in hand and he held it up to Sam, looking awkwardly at the floor. Sam brushed his teeth, got dried and dressed in good time and Dean took him down to Bobby's kitchen for something to eat.

"Morning, boys," Bobby gave them a wave and set a bowl of cereal down on the table. Dean sat Sam down in front of it and watched him eat. Frowning when he noticed Sam was separating the cereal pieces, only eating spoonfuls of matching ones, he sighed, realising the kid was nervous.

Sam's reaction that morning was frightening too, he'd not seen anything like it; Sam had been so in control.

"You ready to go?" John came into the kitchen and patted Sam's shoulder.

"I think… I… maybe," Sam mumbled.

"You'll be fine," Dean promised. "Me and Dad will be there and you'll see Jim. You've missed Jim haven't you?"

Sam nodded. "I prayed like he said to. On my knees…" he drifted off and looked out the window. John sent Dean a concerned look but Dean shook his head. _We'll talk later_.

They got Sam into the Impala with little difficulty, Sam seemed too nervous to do anything but what he was told. The drive from Sioux Falls to Blue Earth was only two hours, John and Dean kept conversation up, listening to cassettes and debating the best kills they'd made.

"You know I can't hunt again," Sam said from the backseat. Dean turned around to find Sam looking at the empty space beside him.

"Who're you talking to, kiddo?" he asked. He felt his dad shift uncomfortably by his side but otherwise he kept his attention on the road.

Sam looked up, caught off guard. "No one… he… I know he's not there," he insisted.

"I know," Dean said gently, "But I was wondering if you could tell me about… him."

"Not much to tell," Sam mumbled, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"There is, Sam," Dean told him, trying not to sound to stern. "Does he have a name?"

"He never said, but I call him Faceless. He doesn't seem to mind," he said, eyes flicking to where Faceless was apparently sitting.

Dean frowned for a moment before he remembered what Sam had said the other day. "You can't see his face," Dean realised. He swallowed hard. "Is he good?"

Sam just shrugged and curled into the window, obviously not comfortable with the conversation. Dean turned back to face the front and kept to himself for the remainder of the drive. When they arrived at Jim's house the Pastor was standing on the porch, it reminded Dean of another time when Sam was gone. They got out of the car and Dean to the backseat to help Sam, who was staring at Jim's house sadly.

"This was meant to be home," he said. "I was meant to be here and not… there."

Dean smiled comfortingly and helped Sam out of the car and towards the house. Jim stood by his front door, staring at the youngest Winchester and Dean could see the mix of emotions crossing his face, guilt, sadness, fear and happiness.

"Sam…" Jim said. Sam stopped at the bottom of the porch steps for a moment and looked up at the pastor. For a moment Dean feared Sam wouldn't react, that he'd just keep going up the steps and into the house, but Sam suddenly broke out into a grin and lunged at Jim, who caught him in his arms and held him tight.

"My dear boy, I am so sorry," he said into Sam's shoulder. He held him back at arm's length and smiled, "let me look at you… Goodness, you've grown."

"You shrunk," Sam replied, then lowered his voice, "I prayed every day, Jim, I promise. I was patient. I… I…"

Jim looked like he wasn't sure what to say. He managed to school his features and smile, gesturing to come inside. John and Dean followed him, noting that the house looked much the same as it always had. They were taken to the living room where a woman was sitting on the couch; she stood quickly and moved to shake John's hand.

"Mandy Richardson," she told them.

"John Winchester," his dad replied, shaking her hand, he nodded to his sons. "This is Dean and Sam."

Mandy smiled at them both and Dean nodded his greeting. Sam just stared at the ground, keeping himself shielded behind his brother. Dean eyed Mandy, the doctor who was supposedly treating his brother. She looked younger than Jim and John, maybe in her thirties, and her clothing was casual; a blue sweater with black jeans and boots, her hair was as dark as her eyes, the curls twisted up into a loose bun. In all honesty Dean would never have pegged her for a psychiatrist, a kindergarten teacher maybe but not a doctor.

"Thank you for helping us," John said, breaking the awkward silence.

Mandy grinned, "I'm happy to help, Jim really saved my life… we could start whenever you're ready."

"No," Sam mumbled. "I don't… no tests."

Mandy watched curiously, though to her credit she maintained the expression that it was no big deal. Dean turned to Sam who was looking increasingly nervous.

"Sam, it's not a test. Just talking, right?" he turned to the others for help, they all agreed enthusiastically.

"We don't have to do anything right now, Sam," Mandy spoke up. "We could all spend some time getting to know each other first. Or I could talk to your family while you and Pastor Jim spend some time together."

Sam looked up and stared at her a moment, contemplating. "Okay… I'll go with Pastor Jim". Sam suddenly took Jim by the arm and steered him towards the church without a second glance to the others, Jim gave them an encouraging smile over his shoulder.

"Shall we take a seat?" Mandy asked once they were alone. John and Dean took the couch while she took the armchair. She bent down and pulled a notebook from her satchel and settled a pair of glasses on her nose.

"Jim has filled me in on your situation; Sam was missing for two years, correct?"

Dean was a bit startled by the abruptness but nodded anyway, "Yeah he was taken, we don't really know what happened exactly, he won't tell us."

"That's understandable," she said sympathetically. "Can you tell me what symptoms you've noticed in him?"

"Well… there's a few," Dean gave a nervous laugh. "He, uh, he changes, it's hard to know what he'll be like each day."

"Change in mood or change in personality?" Mandy questioned. Dean found himself not being part of the conversation, allowing John to take the reins.

The conversation felt so foreign to Dean, like he was talking about a stranger, he'd been living with this Sam for a month and he only just realised how much his brother had changed. It was like Sam had something dark swirling beneath his skin; sometimes you couldn't see it, other times it seeped out slowly then there were the times it came gushing out, drowning Sam.

He was so many things at once it was difficult to keep up; you didn't know what kind of person you'd wake up to. Dean wondered how much Sam understood about himself.

When they were done talking Dean felt like he'd had a weight lifted from his shoulders; to speak to someone, to know they were a step closer to getting better. Dr Richardson didn't want to give her opinion until she'd spoken with Sam himself.

Jim seemed to have managed to speak some sense into Sam. At least as much sense as Sam was capable of. He agreed to speak to Mandy only if no one else was in the room. John and Dean hung out in the hallway, letting the silence wrap around them, begging the time to move faster.

"Dad," Dean spoke up. "This morning Sam wasn't sleeping well so I tried to wake him up but he tackled me."

John eyed him, indicating to elaborate.

"The way he did it… it was professional; I know for sure we never taught him that. And when he realised what he'd done he looked so shocked with himself."

John opened his mouth to speak but the door opened and Sam came out. "I talked," he told them, then turned down the hallway towards the church, no doubt to find Jim.

"I suppose you want to hear my opinion?" Mandy called from in the room. The two of them entered, not bothering to sit.

"I want you to understand that I'm not formally diagnosing him, just giving you my opinion," she said. "I also want you to know that Sam's case is very complicated, given that we don't have all the details."

"Just tell us something," Dean sighed. "Please."

"Okay," she perched herself on the edge of the couch. "I'm fairly confident that he's suffering from PTSD; the flashbacks, the increased anxiety and emotions, avoiding any reminders of the trauma. Sam's psychosis is likely to have stemmed from this; the psychosis itself is an indication to how serious the PTSD is. He also shows a lot of obsessive compulsive tendencies, likely a way of maintaining some control in his life. His fragile grip on reality is possibly due to be incarcerated for so long, prisoners can lose their minds from only a few months in solitary confinement."

"He was in solitary confinement?"

"For a long time, yes," she told them, and then she frowned. "You didn't know?"

"Sam doesn't talk about it."

"He told me they kept him 'in a room with no windows'. He only came out when they wanted him. He didn't elaborate on that."

"Why didn't he say?" John asked.

"I think he didn't want to upset you," she suggested. "Now back to his condition; I also think there's a possibility of Borderline Personality disorder, this sometimes is seen in PTSD sufferers. I can see he really has an unstable sense of identity, the difficulty controlling emotions, impulsive actions, and feelings of emptiness… Finally, I can be positive that he suffers from thought disorder, which is often connected to psychosis. It explains why he makes little sense when he talks, the confusion, the flight of ideas; which is similar to mania."

"Can you help him?"

Mandy's face turned grim. "Honestly, he should be committed," She held her hand up before John and Dean could protest, "But that won't happen because being locked up again won't help him. I can prescribe antipsychotics, mood stabilisers and antidepressants. Keep in mind it will be very trial and error before we find a combination that works. Also he should come see me once a week, at least."

"Thank you, really," John said sincerely.

Mandy shrugged and pulled on her coat. "It's nothing, honestly. I owe Jim. I'll contact you soon but I have to get going."

She scribbled down a prescription and gave them her number before heading off. They stayed the rest of the day, Sam trailing after Jim the whole time, asking questions about religion. Sam seemed happier on the ride home, having had a chance to get out of Bobby's house. They dropped him off at the Singer Salvage, where Rumsfeld was waiting on the porch, before heading into town to fill out their prescriptions.

"Maybe things will get better," Dean said as they drove into town.

"Hopefully," John replied, "But I think we have a way to go. We don't even know the full_"

He was cut off by the sound of his cell ringing; he pulled over and fumbled in his pockets before he found his phone. He flicked it open quickly.

"Caleb?... Are you sure?... where?... okay… good… we'll see you soon."

He hung up. "Caleb and Josh found something, they'll be here in three days."


	7. The File

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1998, John reunites with an old friend. 2000, Dean and John discover some horrifying truths.

 

_September 22_ _nd_ _1998_

The roadhouse was situated in the-middle-of-nowhere, Nebraska.

John had driven all night, only stopping for gas. The small rest stop they'd pulled into had been as sleepy as the last hundred miles. The cashier behind the counter slowly chewed gum and ignored customers, flicking through a magazine. There had only been one other car in the lot; a big well-worn rover, when Dean had walked by on his way into the store he noticed two college girls sitting in the back seat laughing together.

He turned around as John finished filling the tank on the Impala, his dad trudged by with only a small nod as he went in to pay for the gas. Dean slipped in after him and turned down to the candy aisle in search of M&Ms. He stopped short as he turned the corner, at the other end of the aisle two kids were browsing the shelves of liquor. One was the same height as Dean with slicked back blond hair and a heavy denim jacket, but Dean wasn't looking at that kid. The guy next to him was slightly shorter than Dean, with soft brown hair long enough to curl around his ears.

"Sam," Dean whispered, he took a step forward, his heart pounded faster and faster as he got closer. "Sam?" he called again, louder that time.

Both of the kids turned around, raising their eyebrows curiously, "Sorry?"

Dean's heart dropped. Both of them looked like college kids, neither of them were Sammy.

"Sorry," Dean said, realising he'd been staring at the brown haired kid for too long. "I, uh, I thought you were someone else."

Blondie smiled, flashing perfect white teeth, "No problem, man."

Dean half-smiled back, realising how little the other guy looked like Sam. The hair was similar, but only in length and colour, this guy clearly used product to smooth it down whereas Sam would've let his fall over his face. His face was older and more defined, his nose longer and mouth thinner, his eyebrows thick and heavy on his forehead, his eyes were blue and catlike, he didn't have dimples…

"You okay, dude?" the guy asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Oh," Dean managed to get his jaw moving, "Sorry… I just. Nothing, man, sorry."

"It's cool," The guy replied with a smile, but his eyes were halfway between wary and concerned. They both nodded goodbye and headed over to the counter, Dean's eyes followed them out of the store, into the rover in the parking lot and onto the highway. Once the car had sped out of sight Dean let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He blinked, realising he was the only customer left in the store, and quickly headed back to the car where John was waiting behind the wheel.

"What took you so long?" he asked as Dean slid into the passenger seat.

"Nothing," Dean replied quietly, still feeling shell-shocked. He hadn't done that before, hadn't dreamed about his brother or seen him in other people's faces. One month without Sam was beginning to eclipse fifteen years with him, the only thing on his mind was _Sammy's gone_ , but he'd only realised now just how true that was. He'd only just realised that there was a possibility Sam would stay gone.

"Oh God…" he whispered, his gut was beginning to twist knots and he felt it tighten at his throat.

He could vaguely hear his dad asking him what was wrong, Dean scrambled at the door handle and John must have pulled over because next thing Dean knew he was vomiting on the side of the road. He dry heaved a couple times and coughed when he was done; his dad was patting his shoulder then squeezing the back of his neck.

"You done?" John asked, voice surprisingly soft. Dean nodded and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, still gasping and blinking his wet eyes.

"What brought this on?" his dad asked, though it sounded like he already knew the answer.

"I… I saw some kid in the store that looked like Sammy and when I realised he wasn't, I just…" he heaved a breath and managed to lean himself back against the car. "For a second I really thought it would be him. It's stupid, the guy was older… it's stupid."

"Dean," John sighed, joining him to lean against the Impala's back door. "I've been seeing Sammy everywhere I go for a month, just like I've seen your mother everywhere for the past fifteen years."

Dean gulped, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I think it just hit me, you know? I mean, I knew he was gone but now I realise he's _gone_. He might not come back. God, I just let him get on that fucking bus."

"That wasn't your job, Dean."

"It is," Dean insisted. "Always look after Sammy."

"I'm his father. Some father that tells his kid to leave, huh?" John chuckled bitterly. "You know what your mother would do if she was here?"

"What?"

"She'd kick my ass," John said. Dean looked up and raised an eyebrow then the two of them burst out laughing. "She would, she'd kick my ass then she'd go get your brother. I bet you she could do it."

Dean smiled. "I wish Sam remembered her, I wish I could remember her more than I do, but Sammy deserves more than a photo he's only seen once or twice."

"He does, kiddo," John said. They sat quietly for a moment, staring out at the dusty nothingness around them; the place reminded Dean a little of when Sam had stormed off to take his anger out on a shrub only a month earlier. It was cloudier than that day, there was grass which swayed in the breeze and Dean couldn't help but imagine Sam practising soccer in the field while John stopped to check directions or yell at some other hunter on the phone.

They'd gotten back onto the road after a moment of silence and when they arrived at the roadhouse John sat in the parked car and stared at the bar with a guilty look on his face.

"Dad?" Dean managed to get John's attention, his dad nodded and climbed out of the Impala, the heavy door creaking shut behind him. Dean stayed at his father's heel and followed him into the roadhouse.

The place was as deserted as the area around it, except for the young guy passed out on the pool table. It was dimly lit and smelled like spilled whiskey; it was exactly how Dean imagined a hunter's roadhouse to be.

"Where is everybody?" Dean wondered, he glanced at the guy on the pool table, grimacing when he noticed the mullet haircut. "Er… you know him?"

"No," John answered, heading to the back of the bar to scope the place out. The two of them froze at the distinct sound of a shotgun being loaded behind them.

"Bar's closed," came husky female voice. Dean put his hands up and turned slowly, the woman behind the bar was older, pretty, but she had a distinct air of someone you didn't want to mess with. She arched an eyebrow, prompting Dean to explain why he was trespassing.

"Ellen Harvelle?" Dean asked. The woman frowned and replied, "Yes?"

"Hey, Ellen," John spoke up, turning around the corner so Ellen could see him. "It's been a long time."

Ellen didn't lower the gun and her expression hardened. "Not since Bill died."

Dean noticed his father pale slightly, the near-constant hunter mask slipped briefly. Dean would have said John looked guilty. They were all silent for a few minutes, Ellen staring John down and John just taking it. Dean was beginning to feel jealous of the pool table guy.

Ellen's eyes flickered over Dean and she sighed, setting the shotgun down on the bar. "What do you want, John?"

"I need help," John explained, taking a step forward.

Understanding washed over Ellen's face and she beckoned them over, pulling out a couple of glasses and a bottle. She waited for them to take seats at the bar before filling the two glasses, she lightly slapped Dean's hand when he reached for one.

"How old are you?" She asked sceptically.

"Old enough."

"He's nineteen," John interrupted, sliding the glass back over to Ellen, who took a sip. She turned to a small fridge behind her and pulled out a soda, setting it in front of Dean.

"What's happened?" Ellen asked softly, eyes on John.

John took a deep breath and a swallowed his alcohol in one go. "My youngest boy… he's been taken."

Ellen closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head, her face was pinched with concern. "I figured something had happened, you wouldn't come here otherwise. And when I noticed you only brought one of your boys... Sam's your youngest?"

John nodded, Ellen gave the younger Winchester a small smile. "You must be Dean," She said.

"Do you know what did it?" She continued, turning her attention back to John.

" _Who_ ," he corrected. "People took my boy."

Ellen was speechless for a moment, her mouth gaping. "People? My God. John, what do you need?"

"I need help, Ellen, I've got every hunter who'll help out there looking but the trail is cold. There's nothing. You know nearly every hunter that passes through here. Do you know anyone who could help?"

"I don't know any hunters that can help," Ellen said. Dean felt his heart drop, feeling hopeless again. Ellen patted his hand gently and smiled. "But I know someone else who can."

Ellen rounded the bar and headed over to the pool table, prodding the guy in the shoulder.

"Ash," she called impatiently. "I think I've finally found a use for you."

Ash, as pool table guy was known, stirred and squinted up at her. "Huh?"

Ellen sighed, "I got some guys here that could use your help."

Ash nodded, blinking a few times, before he hauled himself up off the table and staggered over to the bar where he took a seat next to Dean.

"Hey," he said casually, nodding at them. Ellen took her place behind the bar and glared at Ash. Dean was really unsure about this guy being the one person that could help them; for one thing he had a mullet, for another Dean was certain he was still a little drunk.

"Ash here went to MIT," Ellen assured Dean.

John seemed to trust Ellen and told Ash everything that had happened, showing him everything they had; Sam's acceptance letter, the brochure, the letter to Jim. Ash read through everything, looking at them sympathetically now and then.

"Can you help us?" John asked when Ash placed the papers back down on the bar. "Can you find him?"

Ash smirked. "Dude, you can find anything if you know how to look."

 

* * *

 

_July 6_ _th_ _, 2000_

Sometimes when Dean looked at Sam he would pretend things were how they used to be. When Sam was being as normal as he was able Dean would imagine Sam still went to high school, maybe he'd finally been on a date, and maybe he still bitched at dad most hours of the day.

Dean always felt guilty when he thought like this; he should be thankful for Sam being safe now. He should be happy he finally has his brother. He should.

But sometimes it was too difficult to accept Sam for how he was. It should never have happened, it wasn't _fair_ to see his bright, passionate, stubborn little brother be reduced to… to this.

He was better, Dean had to admit it, Sam had come so far from where they'd found him. Sam had started his medication a week earlier and they hadn't had much affect, not for the better at least, in Dean's opinion. Dean would need to ask Dr Richardson about that.

It had started yesterday; Sam had been his usual odd self then one morning he was calm, too calm. To put it bluntly, Dean would say Sam was like a zombie. He seemed to only want to sleep and when he was awake it was like his energy reserves had run out, he didn't even want to do anything he liked to do. Dean had even tried to encourage him to play with Rumsfeld but Sam just patted the dog on the head and wandered upstairs by himself.

Dean was currently getting Sam's meds together before they ate; his little brother was lying down on Bobby's couch, staring at the ceiling. Their dad was sitting at the table, speaking to Joshua on the phone; he and Caleb were running four days late because they'd managed to run into a werewolf on their way over, Bobby was stirring a pot of stew over the stove, ready to serve it up.

Dean headed back into the library to get Sam for dinner. He tapped his shoulder; Sam rolled his head to look at Dean and gave him a small smile.

"Dinner's ready, kiddo," Dean smiled back and helped pull him to his feet. Sam dragged himself behind Dean and practically dropped into his seat at the table, his shoulders slumped.

Dean wasn't unused to Sam like this by now, he had depressive episodes sometimes. But right now, it was more like Sam was way too dulled down. He felt hesitant giving Sam his medication but set it down on the table anyway, Sam swallowed down the pills dutifully, downing the glass of water too.

"Caleb and Josh will be here soon," John told them as he hung up. Bobby set bowls down for everyone, taking his seat when he put a plate of bread in the centre of the table. They dug in, except for Sam who lazily swirled his spoon around before taking a slow bite.

"Did they say what they have?" Dean asked, watching Sam from the corner of his eye.

"We'll talk about it when they get here," John replied quietly, the translation of _not while Sam's here_ seemed to get across to everyone but Sam.

"You okay, Sam?" Dean asked as his brother let out a long sigh. Sam looked up and blinked, probably having just realised he was being spoken to and said, "huh?"

"You okay?" Dean repeated clearly. "The pills helping?"

Sam shrugged. "Dunno… I feel… everything's quieter. I'm tired."

"We noticed," John said. "You've been sleeping a lot the last couple of days. Do you think the pills are helping?"

Sam took a moment to find his words. "It's not as hectic, up here," he explained, tapping his head.

"Well, that's good, right?" Dean smiled encouragingly. Sam looked up at him and nodded with a soft smile, though Dean could swear something flitted across his eyes. Sam seemed uncertain. Dean wasn't sure if he should try to get Sam to talk but he'd not had such luck in the recent month.

A car horn beeping outside cut off his thoughts. Bobby was up to answer the door before Caleb and Josh had a chance to knock. Dean joined his father to greet them; the other hunters looked pretty worn out, but pleased to see them more than anything.

"You been good, Dean-o?" Caleb asked with his usual impish grin, patting him on the shoulder.

"Not bad," Dean half-smiled. "Things have been… different."

Caleb's smile faded and he nodded in understanding. The last time Caleb or Josh had seen Sam had been the day they rescued him. The two left soon after to give the family time with Sam, and to hunt for answers.

Sam was standing in the doorway between the kitchen and library, watching the hunters curiously.

"Hey, Sam," Caleb smiled again, "How are you?"

"M'okay," Sam mumbled, ducking his head and scratching the back of his neck.

"Good to hear," Josh added. "We've been missing ya, kid."

Sam looked up and smiled sheepishly. "I, uh, I… me too. It's quiet right now. And slow."

Josh and Caleb looked at Dean questioningly; Dean shook his head at them before heading over to Sam.

"Quiet's better than loud, right?" he said, smiling. Sam gave a hesitant nod and let Dean lead him away from the door. "You seem pretty wiped, Sammy, maybe you can give these losers a hug in the morning?"

He got Sam ready for bed; the kid fell asleep not long after his head hit the pillow. He left the door slightly open so there would be some light if Sam woke up in the night. None of the other hunters had moved when he went back downstairs.

"He okay?" Caleb asked.

"Yeah, he's fine," Dean explained. "His meds make him… tired. It's a recent thing."

"They found one of them," John said, his voice dripping venom.

"One of… one of those _bastards_?"

"He was on the run, meant to be hiding evidence," Josh told them. "We managed to get him to talk but then he tried to attack Caleb so I put him down."

"What did he say?" Dean asked shakily.

"They _terminated_ some of the kids… 'couldn't save them' he said. When you got Sam back, they moved, taking the rest of the kids with them, tightened security apparently. They aren't happy about losing Sam; I doubt they'll let that go."

"Sam was never theirs'," John growled.

"We got this from him," Caleb pulled a file from his duffel and put it on Bobby's desk. Dean stepped closer; the file was crinkled and had _Sam Winchester: behavioural report_ stamped across the top.

John flipped it open. The first thing they saw was a form filled out with Sam's basic details; date of birth, height, weight and so on. A photo of Sam was clipped to the sheet, Sam was glaring at the camera with so much hatred for whoever was behind it, his hair had been combed away from his face and he was wearing the same white scrubs he was wearing when they found him.

"You read this?" John asked.

"We thought that should be for you to do," Josh assured.

"Was this the only file?" John asked.

"Yeah," Caleb sighed, "They were transferring it to God knows where, the other files were destroyed or moved with the facility."

John just nodded, flipping to the next page. There was a tape slotted in a pocket and more papers filling out the rest of the file. The group froze at the sight of the tape, John pulled it out slowly.

"You got a video player?" he asked Bobby.

Bobby's TV was pretty ancient, but it worked, he'd bought a video player when Sam and Dean stayed more often as kids so he could entertain them and run the phones at the same time. They slotted the tape into the player and Dean sat down in front of it, Josh and Caleb took the couch, Bobby took his desk chair whereas John decided to remain standing. The room was silent as the video began playing.

 

******

 

' _ **Sam Winchester Session 004- interview'**_ _flashed up on the screen._

_There was a room, bare and painted white. The camera was facing just over the back of a chair and across the table to where Sam sat. Sam looked younger, softer and brighter. He was peering around the room with curiosity. There was the sound of a door opening and Sam looked up. Someone took the seat opposite Sam, only the back of their shoulder was visible on the screen._

" _Hello Sam, it's nice to see you again," it was a male voice._

_Sam smiled back politely. "You too, sir._

" _We hear great things about you," the man said kindly. "How are you doing with the programme so far?"_

" _It's good," Sam said slowly, looking for the right words. "I didn't realise there'd be so many examinations at first though."_

" _Don't worry about that, Sam, we just want to see what level everyone is at."_

_Sam nodded._

" _So, do you enjoy school?" the man went on._

_Sam's eyes lit up. "Yeah, a lot. My family… we move around a lot so I don't get to stay in one school for too long, but I like classes."_

" _What's your favourite class?"_

" _English, I think. I like reading," Sam explained. He hesitated, looking around the room. "Excuse me, sir, but I was wondering… how you select us for the programme?"_

" _Why's that?"_

" _Well, the other kids are all at different, uh, none of us are at the same sort of level at school."_

" _We look for gifted children in all areas, Sam."_

_Sam nodded though he still looked unsure._

" _Can I call my family?"_

" _I'm afraid we're having difficulty with the phone lines right now, Sam."_

_Sam suddenly looked uncomfortable, as if he already knew something wasn't right._

 

' _ **Sam Winchester Session 022- interview'**_

" _You understand why these treatments are important?" the same faceless man from earlier spoke._

_Sam just glared at the man through the fall of hair across his eyes, head bent forward and shoulders slumped. He was wearing white scrubs now._

" _Just let me go," Sam said angrily, his voice trembling._

" _We explained, Sam, do you remember?"_

_Sam's jaw clenched and he looked down at the table._

" _Your family has given consent for you to stay longer. We're helping you."_

_Sam scoffed. "You don't know my family. They wouldn't leave me here."_

" _Sam, you are in no danger here. You can write to your family if you like."_

" _How do I know they'll get it?"_

" _You can trust us, Sam."_

 

' _ **Sam Winchester session 034- interview'**_

" _How are you, Sam?"_

_Sam looked terrible, his hair was greasy and hung limp over his forehead, his head was bowed and he was clearly shaking._

" _I asked you a question, Sam."_

" _M'fine."_

" _I hope your time in solitary was helpful. Did you have time to think on your actions?"_

_Sam nodded. "I won't do it again, I promise. Please don't put me back in there," he whispered._

" _Only if you don't give us a reason, Sam. Attacking staff is not acceptable, you're lucky you're one of our top subjects or else the punishment would have been more severe."_

" _I just want to go home…" Sam said quietly, clearly trying not to cry._

 

' _ **Sam Winchester session 052- interview'**_

" _Max is dead," Sam said, looking into the distance._

" _Why would you say something like that, Sam?"_

" _You thought he was the strongest but he wasn't. You didn't know what you were doing. He's the first one you put on the table and you didn't know how to do it yet," Sam broke off into a sob, "He died on the table."_

" _Did someone tell you that, Sam?"_

" _I dreamed it."_

_The man leaned forward on the table. "When did you have this dream?"_

" _Last week, I, uh, I think."_

_The man sighed in relief and spoke into a radio. "Subject S. Winchester is showing signs of ability, current treatments are having effect."_

_He placed the radio back down. "Well done, Sam. We're all glad to see you coming along so well."_

_Sam just kept crying._

 

' _ **Sam Winchester session 068- interview.'**_

" _You'd do so much better if you cooperated, Sam."_

_Sam was out of the seat, pacing back and forth behind it, hunched over and scratching his head irritably._

" _You've been with us for eight months and you're still disobedient."_

" _Fuck you," Sam spat out. The boy had grown, in height and muscle, there was bruise purpling his upper cheek._

" _Sam, your current behaviour won't get you out of solitary. The only person keeping you there is you."_

" _Fuck. You."_

" _Sam, I'm adding thirty more days to your confinement, if you improve your behaviour you can re-join the others."_

" _Why bother keeping me, huh?" Sam demanded frantically, he glanced around the room with wide eyes. "Are you listening? I will never obey!"_

" _Sam," the man warned calmly, "You are one of our best when you are compliant. Make things easier for yourself."_

" _One of your best?" Sam smirked."I think you're just desperate to hold onto me because you keep cutting too deep on the others."_

" _Sam…"_

" _Max, Ansem, Scott. You watched their insides leak out onto the metal," Sam said, trying to stifle a laugh. "They were obedient. Was it_ easy _for them?"_

 

' _ **Sam Winchester session 087- interview'**_

" _How long have you been seeing things, Sam?"_

" _Since the last time you wiggled your fingers around my brain," Sam told the man. He was sitting down, eyes darting to the corner of the room now and then, mumbling to himself._

" _Is that why you ripped your mattress apart? Did someone or something tell you to?"_

" _He explained it to me," Sam whispered. "It didn't make sense, and then it did. You tugged at the right places and now I see everything but it was too much so he told me where to look. You dig into my spine at night. The mattress can't be trusted, it has to be gutted," Sam laughed, "You wonder why I can't sleep, can't see, can't see anyone. Even you wear a mask."_

" _Why did you cut up your mattress?" the man asked, taking no notice of what Sam had said._

_Sam glared at the man and leaned across the table. "I. Am. Trying. To. Protect. My. Spine."_

_The man just nodded and jotted something down on the paper in front of him. "When did you first start seeing_ him _?"_

" _I didn't see anyone for a month so he came to keep me company. He's always in the corner of my eye, whispering to me… breathing down my neck. You're supposed to give me a mission."_

 

' _ **Sam Winchester session 102- interview'**_

_Sam's hair was short; he was slumped in his chair and had dark circles under his eyes, contrasting sharply with his pale skin._

" _We wanted to avoid a procedure like that because it's such a setback for you, however, it was necessary seeing as your mental health wasn't improving."_

_Sam didn't speak, just blinked slowly at his hands._

" _Sam, how are you feeling? I know it's a long recovery and you probably don't feel… like yourself, but this will be a huge improvement."_

_Sam barely moved, he looked too busy trying to stay awake._

 

' _ **Sam Winchester session 144- interview'**_

_Sam sat up straight in the chair, eyes focused and hard on the man sitting opposite him._

" _We haven't seen each other in a while, Sam," the man began. "I hope your recovery went well. You're certainly looking much healthier. I hear you're working well with staff now too."_

_Sam smiled and nodded. "They said I'm nearly ready."_

" _Did they say what you're nearly ready for?"_

" _I can't say," Sam explained. "They gave me a mission first. It's a test… to see if I'm ready."_

" _And what's the mission?" the man asked curiously._

_Sam smiled again and whispered. "I can't say… but I can write it down."_

_The man slid a sheet of paper and a pencil, which Sam began to sharpen; he set the sharpener aside and bent over the paper, the pencil scribbling across quickly. When he passed the paper back, he got up and walked over to the man's side, disappearing from the camera's view. There was a sudden choke, followed by gurgling, the man's hands scrabbled at his neck. The pencil was dislodged and thrown across the room, blood spattering the table._

_Sam took his seat again, resting bloody hands on the desk as he watch the man's chokes slow and eventually stop. He looked up to the camera and frowned._

" _I can see you."_

 

******

 

The screen went static when the tape ended and no one in the room made a noise. Dean gulped, fearing he might throw up. He shut his eyes, realising there were tears slipping down his cheeks. The words were tumbling out before he could stop them, finally breaking the silence.

"To be fair, that guy had it coming," he forced a laugh, which turned into a sob as the tears fell harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last section was heavily inspired by the R.Tam sessions (a short webisode from the TV show firefly, you can find it on Youtube) and even some of the lines were taken almost directly from that, those of which do not belong to me.  
> Again, I took some creative licence with the medical information.


	8. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1998, the Winchesters receive some help. 2000, Sam panics.

_September 23_ _rd_ _1998_

Ellen offered John and Dean a bed for the night at the Roadhouse, John looked far too exhausted to refuse. Dean had spent the day in Ash's shadow, hoping that Ash would suddenly provide them with answers so they could hop in the car and get Sam back.

Ash had been working hard, doing something Dean couldn't understand on his computer, for a mullet-headed slob Ash was a goddamn genius.

"I ain't gonna be able to figure this out as fast as you're hoping," Ash said, not looking up from his computer.

"Do you have any idea how long it'll take you?" Dean asked, staring at Ash with a hopeful look.

Ash sighed and sank back into his chair, turning to look at Dean with a sincere look. "Dean, I don't know how long it'll take. I promise I'll try my best."

Dean nodded, turning back to the screen. "So, uh, how does this work?"

"Well, I've been developing a programme to track demons; it spots any kind of demon activity across the country; electrical storms, mutilated cattle, sulphur and stuff."

Dean blinked, impressed. "Seriously? You can track demons with this thing?"

"Not quite," Ash bit his lip. "It's a work in progress, you know?"

"Oh, Okay," Dean replied, trying hard to keep his foot from tapping impatiently. "So, what's a demon-finding computer thing have to do with finding Sammy?"

"I'm trying to make a new programme," Ash explained, tapping away at his computer again. "One that'll track your brother… it's kinda hard seeing as I don't have a lot to go on."

Dean nodded sadly; he should have known this wouldn't happen overnight.

"But if whoever took him makes a phone call or sends an email I'll be able to find it, I just need to look… through a lot of stuff."

Dean got to his feet and patted Ash on the shoulder. "Thanks for helping, dude."

"No problem-o," Ash waved over his shoulder as Dean headed outside.

The sun was bright that day, beating down on him; Dean squinted at the light glinting off the Impala as he unlocked it. He rummaged around the glove compartment.

"C'mon," he muttered to himself. "I know Dad keeps a spare in here… Ha!"

He grinned in triumph when he pulled out a half-full pack of cigarettes. He locked the car again and took a seat in the shade of a tree, resting his back against the trunk. He lit up, sighing contently as he breathed the smoke out slowly.

"Can I have one?" a young voice asked.

Dean opened one eye and stared at the girl in front of him. She was slim and small, way smaller than Dean at least, maybe the same height as Sam at that age, the pipsqueak.

"How old are you?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

The girl came closer and sat cross legged opposite him, "Sixteen."

Dean scoffed, "Okay, sure you are."

"Shut up," the girl bit back, although there was something playful in her tone. "I'm fourteen."

Dean sat up and frowned. "What do you want a cigarette for?"

"To piss my mom off."

"Is your mom Ellen?" Dean guessed.

The girl nodded.

Dean grimaced, "Well, kid, I met your mom and, believe me, I do not want to be involved in pissing her off. Why do you wanna do that anyway?"

The girl sighed, "Because she never listens to me, and I thought if I smoked she'd pay attention."

"I'm Dean," he said, offering her a hand, "What's your name?"

"Jo," she replied, shaking his hand with a stronger grip than he'd expected.

"Well, Jo, making your mom mad ain't gonna make her listen. She'll just think you're an idiot, and then she definitely won't listen to you."

Jo nodded hesitantly, seeming to understand, "So what're you and John doing here?"

"You know my dad?" Dean asked, surprised.

Jo nodded, "He used to come here all the time when I was little, him and my dad were good friends but I never saw him after he died."

"Sorry about your dad," Dean said sympathetically, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Me too," Jo looked down and started pulling grass out of the ground distractedly. "You didn't answer my question though. Why're you and your dad here? Must be something real important for John to come back after so long."

Dean took a breath, stubbing the cigarette out and grinding it under his shoe. "My little brother's missing. We needed help to find him."

Jo sucked in a breath, gazing at him sympathetically. "I'm so sorry. Do you mind me asking…"

"What happened?" Dean finished for her.

Jo nodded. "Was it a hunt?" she asked.

"Nope, it was me being the biggest failure in the world."

Jo shot him a confused.

"I was supposed to look after him but I just let him leave…" Dean explained. "He went to go stay with a friend instead of hunting with us. He didn't want to leave us but I just let him. He was meant to do this school programme but it was a trap, they took him."

"Who did?"

"We don't know," Dean snapped, more harshly than he'd mean to. Jo flinched but recovered herself and moved over to Dean's side.

"I really doubt this is your fault," she said. "If you love your brother as much as I think you do, then I know you would never mean for anything to happen to him. I think they would've taken him no matter what happened, sounds like they went to a lot of effort."

"Since when did fourteen year olds get wiser than me?"

"It's not that hard to be wiser than you," she replied, when Dean looked at her she gave him a small smile. She got to her feet. "I think you'll find him. You'll be okay."

She walked away, disappearing back into the bar, leaving Dean fairly stunned by their odd encounter. Jo reminded him a little of himself, she reminded him even more of Sam; wisdom beyond her years and an independent streak that would drive any parent over the edge. It was strange to have only just met someone but feel like you'd known them for a long time.

The stayed with the Harvelles for a few more days, Dean helped around the bar while his dad had quiet conversations with hunters in the dark corners of the Roadhouse. Jo became something like a close cousin, she was playful and pretty smart. She made Dean smile when he wasn't sure he'd be able to.

Ash hadn't gotten any closer to finding Sam and he was getting pretty agitated. John seemed to be feeling the same way, Dean knew his dad was itching for a hunt. He could understand that, it seemed like they were sitting around and waiting more than actually _doing_ something.

Ellen kept an eye out for hunts, so she could send a hunter on his or her way if they needed a job. She handed over a bunch of articles for a suspected black dog on their eighth day at the Roadhouse, and John had accepted it. They were packed up and ready to head out only an hour later.

"Let us know you're okay when the hunt's finished," Ellen said, pulling Dean into a hug. Ellen was scary sometimes but Dean had learned that she was compassionate; he came to appreciate her motherly affection even if his dad was obviously less welcome.

"We will," John answered for him. "And if anything - "

"We'll let you know if we find anything about your boy," Ellen assured them.

"Thank you," Dean replied sincerely. He smiled at Ellen and gave Jo a hug before he headed out the door after his father.

"John, Dean," Ellen called from the doorway, both hunters turned around. "When you find Sam, make sure you bring him here sometime. We'd all like to meet him and see that he's okay for ourselves."

Dean and John didn't say anything, just nodded back at Ellen before they climbed into the Impala. Dean sank into the passenger seat as his dad pulled onto the highway. Ash and the Harvelles all seemed to genuinely care about Sam, even if they'd never met him, and Dean appreciated that more than anything.

 

* * *

 

_July 7_ _th_ _2000_

Dean didn't sleep the night before. He was sure the others didn't either.

He didn't go to bed; he couldn't bring himself to be in the same room as his brother, though he felt terrible for feeling that way. He checked on Sam constantly through the night, to make sure he was sleeping, to make sure he was still there, and to make sure he wouldn't do something dangerous.

That was one thing he had been sure Sam wasn't. He was vulnerable now, extremely fragile, and though there was a possibility he would hurt himself, Dean had been so certain he couldn't hurt a fly.

Except now he'd seen Sam kill someone. He'd seen Sam _murder_ someone and barely even flinch. That terrified him more than anything, the fact that these people had taken his harmless little brother and twisted him into something dangerous.

By the early hours of the morning, just as the sun was coming up, the group of hunters sat quietly around Bobby's kitchen table. Dean wasn't sure how much coffee and cigarettes he'd been through by this point but he happily poured himself another cup, fiddling with a cigarette to light up later. No one had really said anything, probably waiting for John or Dean to go first, except John and Dean were definitely not ready to talk.

What were they supposed to talk about anyway? The fact that Sam had killed a human or the fact that he didn't even seem bothered by what he'd done. Or maybe they were supposed to talk about what they were going to do with Sam now.

But Sam would get so upset anytime they brought up his captivity, Of course he was. But maybe it was for more reasons than they knew. Maybe Sam was afraid of himself, maybe he was afraid of what he'd been made to do.

"Did they make him do it?" Dean wondered.

"Huh?" Caleb blinked, looking exhausted, the circles under his eyes made him look years older than he was. Everyone turned to Dean, he shrank under the other hunter's stares, having not realised he'd said anything out loud.

"I was wondering if Sam chose to do it or if they told him to," Dean explained, both hands wrapped around a fresh cup of coffee, ignoring the heat through the ceramic, even digging his fingers in harder to feel the sting.

"Sam would be the only one who can tell us that," John reasoned. For the first time in a long time he looked so defeated, he hadn't even looked like this while Sam was gone, maybe it was the knowledge of what his youngest son was capable of that scared him.

Dean shook his head, "No. Sam can't know that we know. He won't react well."

"No he won't," John sighed, scrubbing a large calloused hand over his growing beard.

"Sam said they gave him a mission, a test," Dean remembered. "When he has bad days he goes on about not wanting anymore tests. Maybe that's what he means."

"Could be," Bobby admitted, folding his arms over his chest. "Maybe they wanted Sam to do what he did."

"But why?" Caleb asked, voice scratchy from exhaustion. "So… these people want to make _teen assassins?_ Even for us, that is ridiculous."

"The man said Sam was showing signs of abilities," Dean turned to his father, "This is to do with the demon, isn't it?"

John nodded and dropped his head into his hands. "No doubt they knew everything about the kids and the demon."

"So they could be hunters?"

"Doubt it," Josh said, "There aren't a lot of us so if anyone was doing something that big we'd all know."

"They know about the supernatural, that's for sure," Dean reasoned. "Remember the protective symbols they had at that place?"

The others nodded, no one could forget that place.

"But why these kids?" Caleb wondered.

Dean thought back on every little thing Sam had ever let slip, one thing in particular came to mind. "They were making us perfect," Dean whispered, looking around at the others. "That's what Sam said to me. They were making them perfect."

"Perfect for what?" Bobby asked in a low voice.

"I don't know…" Dean frowned, thinking hard. "They obviously trained them; Sam took me down one morning without even really trying. He's smart too, he was always smart, but he came back a damn polyglot."

"Sounds to me like they were making weapons," Joshua spoke up from his seat in the corner, hand still gripped around his knife which rested on the table, a glass of whiskey in the other.

"Weapons against what?" John growled.

Dean got to his feet, his chair screeching along the linoleum behind him. "Sam's not a weapon. He's not a killer. Sam's my little brother," he hissed, staring the others down one by one, "We don't know everything that happened and Sammy ain't gonna say until he's ready."

"We know that," Bobby scoffed. "'Course Sam ain't a _killer_. Not in his soul. But you have to admit that what you saw scared you, Dean, I can see it in your face."

Dean sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, I'm scared. Seeing Sam do that scared me. I mean, he _killed_ someone… with a fucking _pencil!"_

No one could argue with that, they'd all seen it happen.

"Sam can't know," Dean decided. "Get rid of that file, I don't care where it goes, just make sure Sam doesn't see it because if he does… I don't want it to come to that."

He left the kitchen, not looking back to see the looks of everyone's faces. He took the file from Bobby's desk and shoved it in the locked drawer where some of their weapons had been hidden. Dean took the stairs one at a time, feeling the old wood creak beneath his feet.

Bobby had a big house for just one guy; there were five bedrooms and two bathrooms. Dean sometimes wondered why Bobby's house was so huge, maybe he'd had a big family once, or at least planned to. He knew better than to ask, no one joined the hunting life because they liked it, you got sucked in because something terrible happened.

Sam and Dean's room was the second on the right, in between John and Bobby's. The bedroom door was still slightly ajar; he stopped in the doorway, leaning in to find a mound of blankets piled on top of his sleeping brother. He stepped carefully, not wanting to startle Sam if the floorboards creaked.

When he reached Sam's bed he found his brother lying on his side, away from the door, and very much awake. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, sticking to his hair, his eyes were red and puffy, still damp from crying.

"Sammy?" Dean called softly. Sam blinked, a tear escaping, and looked up at Dean.

Dean took a seat on the bed, placing a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Sam let out a small sob and tried to clutch at his brother, Dean took Sam's hand and gave it a small squeeze. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Sam nodded. "M'sorry,"

Dean frowned. "What are you sorry for?"

"For me," Sam replied, burying his face into the pillow and pulling the covers tighter around his body.

"I don't know what you mean, Sammy. You know there's nothing for you to be sorry for, right?"

Sam shook his head. "No, you don't _understand_."

"No, I don't," Dean agreed. "But if you try to calm down a bit then maybe you can explain it better."

Sam rubbed at his eyes and sat up in the bed, he kept the bed covers wrapped tight around himself and looked warily around the room.

"You looked and looked for me but when you found me I wasn't Sammy anymore," he said after taking a few breaths. "I'm not _right_."

Sam ducked his head and Dean sighed, bending forward to get into his brother's line of sight.

"Sam, you're my pain in the ass little brother, always have been and always will be."

His brother didn't seem to agree and he shook his head insistently. "You don't understand, Dean, I'm not… I can't hunt anymore."

Dean smiled. "I don't care about that, Sam. You're more important than hunting."

"No!" Sam sat forward, insistent. "I can't hunt because you need to hunt me!"

Dean's mouth dropped open. "Why would you say something like that?"

"Because you were feeling it," Sam said, sounding defeated. "You're scared of me because I'm a monster. I didn't want to be, I promise. I tried to pray. But they both tainted me and got mad at the other for it. They confused me and I forgot what you would have done. I'm going to do something bad."

"What do you mean I was feeling it?" Dean asked slowly, when Sam curled in on himself Dean added, "You're not going to do anything bad, Sam."

"I can feel it on you, your fear, and it's directed at me," Sam sobbed. "You're right to. I'm going to kill you."

Sam broke off and cried into his hands.

"Why would you say that? You're not going to kill me."

"I dreamed about it," Sam explained in between gasps, "You were on the ground, you were bleeding and I was standing over you, and you were begging_"

Sam couldn't finish and wept harder. Despite his shock, Dean pulled Sam into a hug and held him there until he stopped trying to struggle away.

"Sam, do you want to kill me?"

Sam's head snapped up, a horrified look on his face. "Never. I never want that."

Dean smiled encouragingly. "Exactly. You make your own choices, Sam, you choose who you want to be."

"I want to be Sammy," his little brother lay down, resting his head on Dean's lap, "I want to be right again."

"You're still Sammy," Dean brushed a hand over Sam's shoulder, feeling Sam's shakes begin to lessen as he calmed down.

"I was there so long I started to think you wouldn't come for me," Sam whispered.

"Well, then you're not a smart as I thought you were," Dean replied softly.

* * *

_July 16_ _th_ _2000_

Sam wandered through the maze of cars; the sunlight glinted off metal, reminding Sam of stars. Rumsfeld was trotting along beside him, tail wagging and tongue lolling. Strangely, Rumsfeld was the only one who seemed to understand Sam; he could never feel anything but love from the dog.

He knew his family loved him, but they were hesitant, sometimes a bit afraid. Sam wasn't sure if they were afraid of or for him. He thought they'd be right to do both, especially Dean. Sam's dreams were never wrong; the vivid ones always came true. He knew he'd kill Dean; he could never stop it from happening, he'd even warned the staff at institute about the others dying on the table and it never worked. His brother had too much faith in him; maybe that's what'll kill him.

Dean hadn't asked about the dream since Caleb and Joshua left about a week ago to continue hunting. Dean seemed haunted recently, more than usual, every time he looked at Sam. He was patient; plastering on a smile, never asking Sam anything that might upset him. He was probably afraid of tipping him over the edge. They all thought Sam didn't notice, but Sam noticed everything.

Sam stopped walking; Rumsfeld planted himself at his feet, panting happily. He pulled a tennis ball from the pocket of his hoodie and tossed it into the distance, smiling when Rumsfeld sprinted after it.

Sam sat down, criss-crossing his legs, and trailed his finger through the dirt. He drew a stick figure, unsure of whom it was until he sketched a car beside it. He swept the drawing away with his foot when Rumsfeld bounded back with the ball in his mouth.

"Good boy," Sam praised, scratching the dog behind his ears. Rumsfeld sat down, tail thumping the ground and waited for Sam to throw the ball again. The dog shot away, kicking dirt at Sam as he ran to get the ball which bounced off a car and around the corner.

He'd been out for a while, well, a while in Dean's mind. Basically, Sam had been on his own for fifteen minutes and he should probably go back to the house or else the others would panic.

He called for Rumsfeld, who padded back, slobbering all over the tennis ball. He tugged it from the dog's jaws and shoved it back in his pocket, wiping his hand on his jeans, and turned back to the house with Rumsfeld in tow.

Dean was pacing the kitchen when Sam slipped in; the dog went straight for his bowl and lapped up water. The look on Dean's face was complete relief when he saw his little brother.

"I said five minutes, Sam," he complained. "Where were you?"

"Walking," Sam explained. "Rumsfeld wanted to chase the ball. I drew on the ground and we saw stars."

Dean didn't look like he understood what Sam meant, which Sam was used to by now, no one seemed to understand what he was saying. His head was too chaotic to put the right words together most of the time and that was frustrating.

He liked to spend time with just Rumsfeld, dogs didn't have many thoughts so overhear. Not that he exactly _heard_ people's thoughts; it was more like he could feel them. He could feel everything since they poked and prodded his brain hard enough. He thought that wass what they wanted, but they took it too far, it was too much for Sam to handle.

"You know the stars only come out at night, right?" Dean smirked, sorting Sam's pills.

"The sun comes out during the day," Sam pointed out. "She's a star."

"Okay, wise ass," Dean beckoned his brother over to the kitchen table. "Take your meds."

Sam took a seat, waiting for Dean to hand him a glass. Dean stood, watching, like he usually did. Dean liked to watch. Maybe he was scared Sam would disappear. Maybe he didn't trust him. Sam thought both. Dean constantly had a small hum of fear radiating off of him, sometimes it was hard to hear over the wariness, anger, and sometimes sexual frustration.

Sam guessed that his brother hadn't been with a girl in a while.

He popped the pills into his mouth, one by one, and hid them under his tongue. He swallowed down the glass of water, and waited for Dean to turn away before he spat the pills back into his hand, shoving them in his pocket with the saliva-covered tennis ball. Sam grimaced at the slimy feeling on his fingers.

"What do you want for lunch?" Dean asked, rummaging through the fridge.

"Don't mind," Sam got to his feet, "I'm going to the bathroom first."

Dean nodded his approval and Sam tried not to hurry from the kitchen. He dropped the tennis ball next to Rumsfeld, who began to chew at it, and went to the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind himself.

He discarded the pills into the toilet and washed his hands, flushing as he left the room. He knew Dean wouldn't like it, but Sam hated the pills, they made his head foggy and tired. They made him feel numb; he couldn't enjoy anything, and he couldn't feel happy even if he tried. They dulled everything down, it didn't make things go away, Faceless still sat in the corner but Sam would be too tired to do anything about it.

Faceless wasn't around at that moment, Sam sometimes wondered where he went when he wasn't with him, probably back into his head. He usually only turned up when Sam wasn't having a good day, to talk to him when he was lonely or upset. Sometimes he scared Sam; sometimes he tried to make Sam feel better. Faceless confused him.

Sam put tentative fingers to the side of his head, feeling the long scar hidden under his hair. He could remember crying when they cut his hair off, then waking up in a white room, not feeling much of anything. They were supposed to cut the crazy bits out of him; he didn't think they did a very good job.

He didn't like thinking about that place, sometimes when he did that he would get stuck there in his head. Sam hated that place for taking him from his family, he hated it for killing his friends on the table. He hated it for twisting and bending him into something he despised, something he got so lost in he forgot who he was.

Sam wouldn't tell Dean any of this. He wouldn't tell Dean about the things he'd done.

Dean never needed to know how much of a monster he really was.


	9. Cherry Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1998, Dean almost loses John. 2000, Sam tries to be the boy he was before.

_September 25_  th  _1998_

Long drives weren't the same anymore. There was no constant chatter from the back seat, no teasing or laughter. Music playing in the car didn't even sound right. There was no feeling to it, Dean had no urge to sing along. It was like someone had stolen the life from them along with Sam.

They'd spent most of the day before driving across the states, sometimes discussing the upcoming hunt, mostly not saying anything at all. Dean had once felt like he and his father fitted together, they understood each other, they were a team. It was hard to be anything anymore. It was a shame that Sam didn't know that his absence tore them apart, he'd always believed he had no part in their team. In truth, Sam was the most important piece. Sam was the innocence they'd striven to protect.

They were booked into some shitty motel, complete with damp spots and grimy bathroom tiles. There was a TV, which only played in black and white, not that Dean felt like watching TV. They'd booked a room with two queens, a small kitchenette and a ratty sofa which apparently qualified for a living room. John was sitting at the kitchen table, news articles and notes spread over the surface. He was tapping his pen distractedly off the paper in front of him as he read. Dean knew his father to be driven, when he set his mind on something that was all he could think about, but he could see his dad's mind in two places in that moment.

"You got anything else?" Dean asked. He was on the far bed, leaning against the headboard with some newspaper copies on his lap.

"I think we have everything we need," John replied, slowly, unsure. "I just like to be thorough. I don't want to go out unprepared."

Dean just nodded his understanding, turning back to the papers in front of him. He hadn't been reading them, not really, just skimming. He couldn't concentrate, not when he was filled with so much worry, he could feel it twitching inside of him, constantly nagging at him. Where is Sam? Who took him? Why?

_They're hurting us._

Dean gulped, fearing he might throw up. Sam's message was always in his mind, always speaking in Sam's voice.

"Dean," John called. He looked up to see his father looking at him with concern, Dean wondered how long he'd been doing that. _Since Sam disappeared_ , he thought.

"Yeah?" Dean answered, trying to sound casual, not wanting anyone's pity.

"We don't need to hunt it till dark, why don't you go get us some food?" his dad suggested.

"What about research?"

"I know you're finding it difficult to concentrate, you've been staring at the same page for half an hour," John fished some money out of his pocket and set it down on the other side of the table, "Get out of here, get some air, get it together."

Dean nodded, slipping off the bed and into his boots. His dad placed and hand on his shoulder when he bent to retrieve the bills on the way out.

"I'm worried too," John said. "I feel helpless. We're doing everything we can right now but in the meantime we need to get our heads into something else or we'll go nuts."

"I know," Dean said. He stuffed the money into his pocket and left the motel room, the door slammed hard behind him and he winced.

He headed down the street to a diner he'd noticed on the way into town. Sam kept slipping into his head, terrible images of him bruised and bloody, begging Dean to help him. Dean took a deep breath, thinking like this wouldn't help Sam. He needed to be strong for Sam; he needed to get his head back into the game. Being distracted by _what ifs_ wouldn't save his baby brother.

He ran the case through his head. Three people dead, hikers found mauled to death in a nearby forest. Not yet the full moon, so no werewolf. Not the right area for a Wendigo. It was a Black Dog. Black Dogs were nocturnal so they'd be hunting at night.

Lore on Black Dogs was pretty vague, too many myths about them to know the truth. His father had hunted one years ago, when Dean had been too young to hunt but old enough to look after his brother. John had said the hunt was simple enough; harm it was salt and iron, slow it down enough to burn it. Black Dogs were spectral, they came from all over the world but it was debatable if they were animal spirits or death omens.

Dean snorted to himself; normally Sam would be the one interested in the mythology of the creatures. Dean was usually only bothered if it helped him kill it. It didn't matter if it was a spirit or an omen, as long as it was dead.

He pushed the diner door open, a bell jingling as he did. It was a decent place, filled with families and high school kids spending their weekend gossiping over diner food.

"I am _not_ going to the forest," one girl protested, she and her friends were sitting in a booth by the till. "You know people died there, like, last week."

"You scared?" one of the boys teased.

"Yes!" she almost shrieked, blushing when some other customers looked her way. "I don't want to get eaten by a wolf!"

A bulky teen, probably a jock, snorted, "No wolves in these parts, Tammy."

"Well, there's _something_ ," Tammy hissed back.

"I think it'll be fun," another girl said. "We can get drunk and tell scary stories."

"Well, I'm not going," Tammy insisted.

"You're such a pussy," the other girl sneered. "Nothing's gonna happen, stuff like that only happens to other people."

Dean had heard enough, things were getting too horror movie cliché for his liking, and he stepped out of the queue and went over to their table, fumbling in his coat pocket for the right badge.

"Excuse me," he got their attention and waved the ID in their faces. "I'm from the park rangers and I couldn't help overhearing your conversation just now."

Not-Tammy gave him a look. "Stalker much?" she snorted.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Anyway," he went on, ignoring her, "I just wanted to strongly advise you against going near the forest until the situation has been sorted out. You see, I've been down to the morgue just this morning and the three hikers I saw with their insides hanging out would probably agree with me."

Tammy gulped. "Why isn't the forest closed?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "You can't really _close_ a forest. I can, however, tell you lovely young people to stay home to get drunk, because that way you are most likely to keep your organs inside your bodies. Have a nice day."

He flashed them a smile and re-joined the queue.

When Dean got back to the motel, a greasy paper back under one arm, his father was cleaning weapons and refilling holy water and salt. John went over Black Dog lore as they ate.

"Obviously, being _black_ dogs, as well as being nocturnal, it'll be hard to see 'em. Their eyes glow red, so keep an eye out for that. If it gets close, shoot it with iron rounds. When it's down, burn it quick because it'll get back up if you don't."

The sun was beginning to set when they reached the forest. They parked the Impala in the empty lot nearby and began to hike into the forest. Each death had occurred at dusk, hikers who were trying to make it back home before the sun went down. The black dog was probably living in a cave during the day, coming out at night to chow down.

"There were some kids planning on coming here tonight, I heard them in the diner," Dean told John.

His dad raised an eyebrow. "Did they know about the deaths?"

Dean smirked. "Oh yeah. They thought it made the forest spooky. They wanted to tell ghost stories."

"I'm guessing you told them it was a bad idea?"

"Along those lines, yeah," Dean replied vaguely. The sun was no longer visible; the sky was a dark, making the forest look blue in the moonlight. Twigs snapped and leaves crunched under their boots. John and Dean stopped, listening. Twigs still snapped and leaves still crunched but it definitely wasn't under their feet.

John motioned for Dean to stand at his back so they could get a view from both sides. Dean's eyes flicked from tree to tree, finding nothing but rotting bark and foliage. He frowned, only just noticing that the forest around them was dead. There was no doubt that this was Black Dog territory.

There was a low growl that seemed to fill the whole clearing. Dean flashed his light across the area, trying to find glowing eyes. There were two crimson specks staring out through the rotting leaves, watching Dean as he watched it back.

"It's right in front of me," Dean whispered, pointing his gun in its direction.

"Do you have a good shot?" John asked quietly.

"I think so."

"Don't _think so_. Know so."

Dean was already aiming, and then he fired. The Black Dog disappeared into the bushes, not making a sound. Dean's bullet hit the tree behind with a _bang_.

" _Shit_ ," he hissed.

"I said to make sure you had a good shot!" John whispered angrily. "You need to get - "

John was cut off as something large and black barrelled into him, he was hurled into a tree with a crack, falling to the ground limply. The Black Dog prowled towards him, licking its tongue over sharp canines.

"No you don't, you son of a bitch!" Dean cried, letting two rounds off into the beast's side. The dog yelped and stumbled to the ground, black ichor oozing from its wounds. It growled at him, trying to get back to its feet but it crashed down again when Dean shot it two more times, he pulled out his iron knife and repeatedly plunged it into the monster's flesh. It whined in pain as Dean gave it an extra kick for good measure. He drenched it in gasoline and threw his lighter onto it. The creature went up in flames, shrieking and growling.

"You're not taking someone else from me," Dean shouted. Once he was sure it wouldn't be getting up again, he hurried to his father's side. John was slumped against the tree, eyes half open, a large gash was seeping blood down the side of his face.

"Dad, you okay?" Dean asked worriedly, noticing the glazed look in John's eyes.

"Mmhmm," was all his dad could manage. Dean gently wrapped a bandana around John's head, after dabbing up the trail of blood from around his eye.

"Do you think you can stand?"

"C'n try…" John slurred. Dean pulled him to his feet, taking most of his weight as they stumbled back out of the forest and to the car. He lowered John into the passenger seat and sped out of the parking lot and onto the main road. He found a clinic in town fifteen minutes later. His dad wasn't treated immediately, which made Dean irritable and restless, nagging at the poor receptionist. _D_ _octors are supposed to help people, so why aren't they fucking helping?_

It was in the early hours of the morning that Dean was sitting at his dad's bedside. He was terrified that, even though John was given the all clear, he might lose what's left of his family.

John was given three stitches and was left to rest for the remainder of the night.

"Dean…" John grumbled tiredly. Dean looked up and smiled to see his dad awake, still groggy and concussed, but awake.

"Hey, Dad, how're you feeling?"

"Like an elephant stood on my head," he gave a weak smile.

"It was close enough," Dean laughed.

John sighed tiredly and glanced around. "Hey… where's Sammy?"

Dean froze. His father looked confused, still having difficulty focusing on one thing for too long.

"He just went to, uh, get something to eat. Don't worry about it," Dean told him. John's eyes slipped shut and he patted Dean's hand as he fell asleep again.

Two days later, when they left town, John didn't remember asking for Sam.

* * *

 _July 22_ _th_ _2000_

_Sam didn't know where he was._

_There was a knife in each of his hands, his grip on them was steady and firm from years of practise._

" _Sammy…"_

_Sam looked down; his brother was lying on the ground at his feet, one hand pressed against his side, blood seeping between his fingers. His skin was pale white, his were eyes wide and terrified._

" _Sammy… please…"_

_Dean was begging, tears slipping down his cheeks. He coughed, his lips reddening. Sam looked at the blades in his hands; one was stained with blood._

" _Please don't… Sam… Please."_

_Sam's grip tightened around the hilt of the blades..._

Sam gasped awake, shooting up into sitting position. His skin was hot and damp with sweat; his pyjamas clung to him, his hair plastered to his forehead. Sam kicked the covers from his body, still panting and fell back into his pillows, trying to get his breathing under control.

The sun was up, morning dew misted the windows and the sky was a pale purple as the sun worked its way into the sky. Sam looked to the side to find his brother's bed empty; the covers rumpled and unmade as they usually were.

Sam slipped quietly out of bed, he brushed his teeth and washed his face, trying to take no notice of Faceless standing behind him in the mirror, his image as vague as ever. Faceless didn't speak or watch, though Sam was unsure if he had eyes, he just stood. It made Sam feel uncomfortable. Faceless usually meant Sam's head was even more tangled up than usual.

He ignored the footsteps following him as he went downstairs. He stopped in the hall when he heard his name spoken quietly from the kitchen.

"I don't know, Dean," his dad sighed. "I think he's got a long way to go before he thinks about school."

"But shouldn't Sam be in school?" Dean answered. "I know, I know. It's just he used to love it so much."

"He did," John agreed, "But he's got a lot going on right now. Exams and socialising wouldn't help."

Dean was quiet for a moment. "I just wondered if he could _ever_ go back to school. I mean, does he still have a chance at college?"

"You'd have to talk to Dr Richardson," John replied, not sounding very hopeful.

"He should be at school," Dean went on miserably. "He should have dorky friends, he should be making out with girls, going to parties… I just want him to be happy."

"He will be," John answered gently.

Sam heard the scrape of a chair, then footsteps getting closer. Dean rounded the corner into the hallway, starting when he caught sight of Sam.

"Sammy," he gasped, he frowned at his little brother. "How long have you been down here?"

"I just came down stairs," Sam said, looking down. Held out his sweat-slicked arms. "My skin's sticky."

"Need a shower?" Dean asked. Sam could tell that wasn't what Dean wanted to ask. Dean wanted to ask Sam if he'd had nightmare, as he had for the past week, but the answer was always the same.  _I'm going to kill you_.

Sam nodded, allowing his brother to lead him up the stairs. He remembered to wait for Dean to turn away before stripping down, he used to forget because he was so used to being naked in front of people as they measured him, weighed him, checked _everything_.

He tried to keep his shower quick; he imagined waiting wasn't much fun for Dean. Bobby's shower curtains were opaque, though shadows were visible through them, he noted Dean's figure sitting on the closed toilet seat and another, standing right next to him, a shadow staring through the barrier between them. When he pulled the curtain away there was nothing there, only Dean with his head turned away and a towel held out for Sam.

They'd waited for Sam to eat breakfast. It was harder to tongue his pills when everyone was around during breakfast or dinner. He would slip it under his tongue, drink the water so it looked like it went down, spit it into a napkin after taking a couple of bites of food, then he would discard it into the trash along with leftovers.

The pills weren't working, he thought so anyway. They made him tired. When he wasn't on the pills, sometimes he would have periods of feeling really up. Sam didn't want the pills to take those away, he wanted to feel good sometimes.

Every day was the same, mostly consisting of eating and sleeping at scheduled hours, taking pills exactly to the minute, and once a week he would go to Blue Earth to see Pastor Jim and talk to Dr Richardson. He like going to the church, especially to ask Jim questions; he was trying to wrap his head around the way God worked. He'd always thought he'd be protected by God, but then he'd been taken away. That didn't make sense to him.

He remembered praying when they'd locked him in the room with no windows, asking Him to send dad and Dean to rescue him. He supposed he got what he prayed for, eventually. Maybe it was because he'd prayed extra hard, he thought that if he _put himself_ into the prayer then maybe God would hear it. The masked people weren't happy about it. He'd gutted his mattress once, there had been things hiding in there to spy on him, and he found metal springs and used them to cut his hand, he used his blood to write his prayer on the wall, to make sure it was loud enough to breach the walls.

His family found him only a few months later. Maybe God had finally heard him.

Dean kept trying to joke with Sam, the way they had before. Sam didn't really understand the jokes and Sam's replies didn't seem to make sense to Dean, his brain didn't work the same way as it used to. He knew it upset Dean, how Sam wasn't like he was before, it was hard for them to be brothers again. Sam knew it was his fault, he shouldn't have let them crack his head open like and egg and whisk the insides before putting the top back on.

He wanted Dean to be happy. Dean made Sam happy, so it was only fair. If Dean wanted old-Sam back, that's what he'd get.

Sam's problem was that he'd forgotten how to be old-Sam; he wasn't sure what that Sam would be doing right now if he hadn't died. Sam had cried when Dean's Sammy died, he'd mourned for Dean's loss. Who he was now wasn't good enough for Dean, or anyone; Dean didn't deserve a monster for a brother.

Dean took him to the grocery store and Sam thought hard about how to fix himself. He slipped a candy bar into his pocket as they made their way down the aisles. His father had said not to steal unless he needed it. Sam admitted he didn't _need_ a candy bar but, technically, it wasn't stealing if it hadn't belonged to anyone before. Besides, taking the candy made him feel a rush, it made him feel _something,_ an emotion that actually belonged to himself. Sam longed to feel something he could understand.

Maybe the way to be old-Sam again was to _be_ old-Sam. If Sam wasn't broken then he would've been a normal teenager. He would've gone to parties and made out with girls. Just like Dean had said that morning.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked. He stopped pushing the cart to look him over. "You've been pretty quiet today."

"Just trying to untangle…" Sam said, gesturing to his head. He couldn't stop his shoulders from jumping a little. "Tangle, mangle."

Sam gulped, straightening himself out. Dean frowned worriedly.

"You haven't twitched like that in a while, maybe we should call Mandy," Dean said. He gave reassuring smile and placed an arm over Sam's shoulders, pushing the shopping cart over to the checkout queue.

The lady at the till was angry, not at Sam and Dean of course, but he guessed it was her husband, he could feel the annoyance coming off in waves. Sam tried not to wince at the loudness of it; he hadn't been able to feel things this strongly for a long time. This was why he needed to _be_ old-Sam as soon as possible, that way he could be fixed. Then, Dean would be safe. Old-Sam would never have let Dean get hurt. This was how he would stop his dream coming true.

Sam had heard some girls talking about a party when he'd walked by on the street, they had colourful dresses and smelled like perfume. He supposed he could kiss one of them, but then he remembered the conversation with Dean about not touching someone you don't know after he'd tried to feel how soft an old woman's fur coat was.

That night he tongued his pills, ate his dinner and watched TV with Dean, who was so exhausted that he fell asleep halfway through the movie. He went to bed at 10pm, getting Sam ready first, and fell asleep almost immediately. Sam wondered if Dean was so tired because of him.

When he was sure Dean was asleep he slipped into clean clothes. He knew how to be silent, he'd been taught to, so climbing out of the window without waking Dean up wasn't too difficult. He climbed onto Bobby's porch roof, stepping lightly over to the edge, and he gripped his fingers around the beam underneath. He swung down gracefully and landed almost soundlessly on his feet.

Rumsfeld tried to follow him out onto the main road but Sam sent him back. The dog's tail drooped as he padded back over to his kennel.

Sam knew the way to town from Bobby's because of all the times Dean had driven him to the store. He wanted to drive the Impala, he wanted to feel close to her, the only home he remembered, but the one time he'd tried to drive had made Dean angry.

Sam wasn't sure how long he'd wandered before he realised he'd forgotten to put shoes on The asphalt hurt his feet, but the chilled night air numbed them enough for him to ignore it.

He wasn't sure where this party would be, he wasn't even invited, but Sam didn't think that mattered. He'd get lost in the crowd and become invisible. Eventually, he noticed a group of teenagers and followed them, and soon enough he found himself in the suburbs, a soft beat of music echoing in the distance.

When he slipped into the house where the party was happening no one took any notice of him, too busy talking or drinking out of red plastic cups. He weaved his way through the people, feeling their happiness and excitement thrum along to the beat of the music.

Sam stood around, unsure what he was supposed to do, so he just watched what the other kids were doing. He'd been looking for a while but didn't notice the pretty girl staring at him until she was right in his face, up on her tip toes, even in heels.

"Do you go to our school?" She asked, flashing a bright smile and twirling a brown curl between her fingers.

"I don't go to school," Sam told her.

The girl grinned. "I didn't think I recognised you. Are you friends with Anthony?"

Sam didn't even have a chance to tell her he didn't because she'd grabbed his hand and was pulling him to the centre of the room where others were dancing. She got very close to him, which confused Sam because he was a stranger to her and you weren't supposed to get too close to strangers.

Sam liked the way she danced; swinging her hips so her silver skirt fanned out and glimmered in the dim room. She had her arms raised, brushing through her hair and landing on Sam's chest. Sam put his hands on hers, feeling the softness of her skin, admiring the dark paint on her nails which were cracked like fiery coal.

"I'm Cara, by the way," she said, giggling a little as she looked up at him.

"I'm Sam," Sam replied, giggling a little too because her laugh was quite infectious. He stared at her face, she had freckles across her nose and dark powdered wide-set eyes. He couldn't help noticing that her lips were plump and had a soft pink sheen.

"Which school do you go to?" she asked.

"I don't go to school."

"You get your GED?"

"No."

Cara frowned, looking down. "Sam, where are your shoes?"

"I forgot to put them on."

Cara burst out laughing, "Jeez, Sam! How much have you had to drink?"

"Nothing," Sam shrugged.

"Sure," Cara giggled, she gave him a soft smile. "You're weird, Sam. I like weird people. Everyone else here is a sheep. Not you, though, you're interesting."

"So are you," Sam replied, feeling her small fingers in his hand. "You make friends with strangers really fast."

"We're friends, huh?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement. She grabbed his shoulder and pulled him down so she could whisper in his ear. "Do you want to go 'make friends' some more?"

"Like, with other people?" Sam frowned, confused.

Cara laughed. "If you're into that… no, I just wanted to spend time alone. Just us."

Sam grinned, this was what Dean had said. "You mean making out?" he asked.

Cara almost choked. "You're a funny drunk, but yeah that's kinda the idea."

"I'd like that," he replied.

Cara entwined her fingers in his and led him away from the noise and up the stairs. She checked behind several doors, some shrieks came from inside when she did, before she found an empty room. She closed the door behind them, leaning against it as she stared at him, smiling.

"You're pretty cute, Sam," she said softly. "And weird… you're the funniest thing at this lame party."

"Thank you," Sam said, he knew to be polite. She walked slowly over to him and gently pushed him down to sit on the bed, she took a seat beside him and snaked her arms around his neck, bringing her lips to his.

Sam was stunned for a second but eventually let his eyes close. Her lips were warm and wet and tasted like cherry lip gloss. He smiled through their kiss and she gently pushed her tongue into his mouth, which Sam decided he liked.

They went on like that for a while, Sam wasn't really keeping time but it felt too soon when she pulled away. She shifted over onto his lap and pulled her shirt over her head, it was a frayed and cut band tee. She had a lacy blue bra on and Sam couldn't help staring, realising this must be why Dean liked girls so much. They tasted good and they smelled sweet and they were shaped nicely.

"You wanna do this?" she asked, panting slightly, her nose touching his. Sam guessed she was talking about sex. He liked her, his body was making that known. He nodded.

"You got a condom?" she asked. Sam shook his head, if he'd told Dean where he was going maybe Dean would have given him one.

"It's okay, I've got one," she smiled again, pushing him down to lie on the bed. She slipped his shirt over his head as he lay back, brushing her hands over his bare chest. She was straddling him, bent over to kiss his stomach, Sam gasped, beginning to feel unsure.

Cara unhooked her bra and tossed it aside, leaning back over him, tangling her fingers in his hair, brushing over his scar. Sam squeezed his eyes shut; sweat beading on his brow, tears threatening his eyes. Cara was still kissing his lips, fingers prying even more.

Sam shuddered under her. He could hear wheels squeaking down a hallway, metal instruments rattling on a tray, the whirr of a machine, and the sigh of gas seeping through a tube. Sam cried out and jumped up, Cara fell to the floor with a thud.

"Hey!" she cried. Sam wasn't listening, he couldn't listen, all he could hear were murmured voices and cold fingers prodding and poking him. He tried to get away from the hands, scooting back into the corner, crying for Dean because _they'd found him._ They were going to take him away again and _hurt_ him.

"Sam? What's wrong?" Cara's voice was quiet beneath the ones in his head.

He could almost see her worried face but it was blurring out of focus because of the tears in his eyes. His breaths because short and jagged when Faceless took a seat at this side, hushing him and brushing his hand through his hair, fingers lingering on the strands too long and tugging until it hurt. Sam cried because of the pain in his head and Faceless laughed without even making any noise.

"Someone help!" Cara's voice was screaming. She was kneeling in front of him, hands hesitant to touch, her face was terrified. "Sam did you take something?"

Sam didn't know what she was talking about.

He just wanted faces to stop staring and invisible fingers to stop poking.

He wanted Dean.


	10. Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2000, Dean looks for Sam.

_July 23_ _r_ _d_ _2000_

Dean didn't open his eyes right away when he woke up, it was still dark. He'd slept well, normally it took him a while to fall asleep and even when he did he wouldn't stay that way for more than a couple of hours. It was constant waking and sleeping through the night, a constant clench in his gut that reminded him that he'd lost Sam once.

Groaning, he turned over, blankets twisting uncomfortably around his legs like a second skin that didn't fit properly. He opened his eyes; the room was still dark, only the moonlight made anything distinguishable from one another. Dean propped himself up on his elbows, squinting at the alarm clock where _3:48am_ blinked back in red letters.

With another groan he let himself drop back into his pillows, kicking the quilt off his legs and trying to readjust it without being able to really see. He was about to attempt sleeping again when he noticed the room was cool, a soft breeze tickling his skin unpleasantly, making the hairs on his arms stand up.

He felt his stomach drop as he noticed the window pushed up, curtains dancing lazily around it. He squinted when he turned on the bedside light, but his eyes soon focused on Sam's bed. Sam's _empty_ bed.

Dean should had put the empty bed and open window together straight away, however, even though he was used to thinking the worst he was not prepared to accept that Sam was not in the house. The first thing that came to his head was _nightmare_ and _psychotically ill little brother_ and maybe Sam got confused and forgot where he was.

"Shit…" Dean grumbled, rubbing his eyes, still half-asleep. He threw the blanket away and got out of bed, padding out into the hallway. He checked all the upstairs rooms, grimacing at the loud snores of Bobby and his father. He went downstairs, flicking the lights on to find each room empty.

Dean froze, waking up fully. Sam had to be somewhere in the house. He would never just leave, he couldn't leave. Dean checked every door to find it locked, the way Bobby left it at night to avoid a situation like this. Then he checked the drawers; all the keys were accounted for.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, running upstairs to check again, he called for his brother over and over, looking under beds and in closets. "Sam! Where are you?"

He was coming down from the empty attic when he saw the hall light on, Bobby and his father were waiting for him, looking rather pale with worry.

"Dean, where's Sam?" John demanded. Dean shook his head, frustrated.

"I don't know, Dad, that's why I'm looking for him."

He marched past them and back into his and Sam's room to look for any clue. The room seemed colder, like Sam's absence was felt in there. Dean froze in the doorway, eyes widening at the sight of the semi-open window, fluttering curtains taunting him, how couldn't he have noticed earlier.

"Shit…" Dean's whole posture dropped at the realisation, he hurried over to the window and yanked it all the way open, leaning out into the cool night air. The porch roof was directly below them, an easy escape route. "Shit shit shit…"

"Dean?" that was Bobby's voice; his tone was almost hesitant, like he didn't want his suspicions to be true.

"He's gone," Dean said, turning to his father. "He's not in the house, the window's open…" he broke off, gesturing helplessly to Sam's escape route.

"He's definitely not in the house?" John spoke with complete calm, though his eyes gave him away, he was terrified.

"No… I checked everywhere," Dean was nearing panic. "He would answer when I call. I know he would."

He took a shuddering breath, fingers raking though his hair almost painfully. Sam wouldn't leave by himself, would he? He was usually nervous about going into town even when his family was with him. Most importantly, Sam wouldn't worry Dean like that; he'd know better, he was usually so desperate to make Dean happy.

"What if they took him?" Dean said, his voice wavering. "What if they found him and took him again. I was _right there_ , asleep. Oh God."

"Dean, stop!" John commanded, his face was hard, focused. 

"What do we do?" Dean asked, blinking hard to stave off the tears. He had been right there, how didn't he notice Sam was gone?

"We check out the scene, like a case," Bobby suggested, glancing around the room. "Is there anything missing or out of place?"

Dean took a few breaths to calm himself, nodding in agreement. He glanced around first, not noticing any difference, then he examined Sam's side of the room. The bed was unmade, which wasn't usual for Sam, but what caught Dean's eye were Sam's pyjamas, which Dean could specifically remember Sam wearing when he brushed his teeth.

He flipped up the blanket, finding nothing else on the bed, so he moved to Sam's drawers. Sam didn't have a lot of clothes, only some hand-me-downs and whatever Dean had bought him a few weeks earlier, therefore Dean knew every article of clothing Sam owned. He also knew that a pair of jeans, one of Sam's nicer shirts, and a jacket were missing.

"At least he's not naked," Dean murmured, turning to the others to report his findings.

"Seems likely that he went of his own accord," Bobby mused, scratching his beard in thought. Dean found himself noticing that Bobby was wearing his cap, even dressed in pyjamas. Sam would've found that funny.

"Why would he leave?" John wondered, forehead creased with worry.

"I don't know," Dean answered. "I thought he was doing better. He'd been taking his pills and he hadn't had any major freak-outs for a while. He'd just been quiet."

"Pills are a magic cure, Dean. Things like this take a lot more than that," John said, striding out of the room. Dean hurried after him. "We need to find him, before someone gets hurt."

"Dad, Sam wouldn't hurt anyone," Dean protested. His father dropped onto his bed, shrugging a jacket on.

"I know he wouldn't, not intentionally, but we don't know what state he's in right now," he stood up, grabbing a pair of jeans. "You should get dressed, Dean. We'll find him, don't worry."

Dean nodded. He got dressed quickly, only vaguely aware of what he was putting on, then he hurried down the stairs to meet John and Bobby. They each took a separate car, deciding it would be easier to find him if they all looked in different places. Bobby was going to patrol the streets for any sign of Sam, John would head to the police station and Dean would check the hospital. He hoped to God he wouldn't find Sam there.

Sioux Falls General was a good sized hospital for such a small town. Dean parked the Impala as quickly as he could and dashed inside. He noticed it was nearing 4.30am when he made it to the front reception. He had no idea how long Sam had been gone.

"Can I help you?" a young nurse perked up from behind the desk. She was pretty, Dean thought fleetingly, in a hot librarian sort of way.

"Uh, yeah," Dean gulped, his stomach still curdled with panic. "My little brother's disappeared, I wondered if he was brought here. His name is Sam, he's seventeen, pretty tall, a little over my height. He's got medium-long dark hair and hazel eyes. He's also got... mental health issues. It's really important I find him."

The nurse nodded. "We do have a Sam by your description who came into the ER a few hours ago. I'll just make a call to see if someone can come down to talk to you. Take a seat for the moment please…"

"Dean. Dean Winchester," he supplied. The nurse, her name tag read Karen, gave him an encouraging smile and picked up the phone. Dean paced impatiently as she spoke to someone on the other end. When she hung up she smiled at him again.

"Someone will be down soon to take you to the ER; a police officer is here and also wants to speak to you if our Sam is definitely your brother."

Dean paled. "A cop? What the hell happened?"

* * *

_A few hours earlier…_

Sam didn't like the noise, there were people whispering, their voices merging into on long hum. It hurt his head. He wanted to escape the noise and the eyes staring at him so he curled into the corner, hands pressed over his ears.

"What the hell did he take?" someone said, laughing. "The kid's tripping balls."

"It's not funny, Anthony!" Sam recognised Cara's voice. He liked Cara; she was warm and soft and smelled like cherries. His head tried to make sense of how she could be there. He'd been kissing her then he'd been back at the institute. He didn't want Cara to be here, she didn't deserve to be strapped to the table.

"I think we should call an ambulance," Cara went on, she sounded worried, her voice was shaking slightly. Sam wanted to tell her not to be scared but he was sure that if he uncurled himself that he would be strapped down and sliced.

"No one's calling 911," the first voice growled. "I'm not getting in trouble just because some dumb kid couldn't handle himself."

"Don't be such a dick," that was another voice Sam didn't recognise. "What if he dies!" she shrieked.

He could hear Cara shuffle nearby. "Sam? Can you look at me, please?" her voice was gentle.

A hand was touching him, brushing gently against his arm. Sam wouldn't be strapped down again, he wouldn't. He lashed out, his fist meeting flesh, causing someone to yelp. He shuddered, peeling one eye open to look around.

He wasn't in solitary, or the room with the chair with straps on it. He was in the bedroom where he'd kissed Cara, except now there were lots of people crowded in the doorway. Cara was crouched in another girls arms, her hand cupping a bleeding nose.

"Cara…" Sam whispered, looking down at his shaking hand, a small amount of Cara's blood on his knuckles. "I'm sorry, I d-didn't mean t-to…"

She looked at him sympathetically, mostly worried, her free hand reached over to him hesitantly, Sam tried to reach back.

"Don't touch her, freak!" someone hissed, Sam recognised the voice and looked up to see Anthony striding over. He yanked Sam up by his bare arms, hard enough to bruise, and pushed him into the wall. "Get the fuck out of here!"

"M'sorry… I didn't… I," Sam choked, tears falling down his cheeks. Suddenly he was being yanked away from the wall and out the door, pulled through the crowd of spectators and down the stairs. The hand on his arm was tight, Anthony moved too quickly and Sam almost fell a few times. Next thing he knew he was being shoved to the ground, cold dewy grass softening his fall.

"Go away," the boy sneered. Sam looked up, most of the spectators had followed them downstairs and were watching from the windows of shuffling outside to see. Some of them looked uncomfortable or concerned, others looked eager for a fight to break out.

Faceless' long cold fingers curled over Sam's shoulder, nails digging in. Sam looked up, frightened of the featureless face which somehow managed to look menacing. Sam shuddered, realising Faceless wasn't being kind today.

He kicked out at him, which did nothing, of course. Dean always told him Faceless wasn't there so Sam believed him. You can't hurt something that isn't real.

"Get away!" Sam shrieked, Faceless cocked his head to the side and stepped towards him, long-fingered hands stretched out towards him. Sam panicked, scrambling away, sobbing for his brother.

"What the hell?" someone from the crowd shouted, there was a murmur of agreement, some others voiced their concerns.

Sam didn't want to listen, there was too much noise, too many faces, too many voices, he thought he was going to drown in it all. He hauled himself to his feet and ran, away from the voices and emotions, away from Faceless, who followed slowly after him.

"Dean Dean Dean…" he panted under his breath over and over. He shivered, freezing and dressed only in jeans. His feet stung and blistered on the asphalt, loose stones pricked at his skin, but he didn't slow, just ran so the voices would go away. When he could still hear them in his head he ran faster.

There was the sound of squeaky wheels and rattling metal, whirring instruments and fingers tapping against syringes. His breaths came in fast; he looked around to find nothing, only a long road surrounded by trees in the dark. Faceless was behind him, wandering a few feet away, Sam gasped and sprinted faster.

There was a bright light coming from behind, Sam turned and squinted. A police car pulled up beside him and a woman climbed out.

"Are you Sam?" she asked, approaching slowly.

He nodded. "Sam, Sam, little-lamb," Sam muttered trying not to look directly at her. She just bent down into his line of sight, smiling gently.

"I'm deputy Jody Mills from Sioux Falls police department," She told him. "I was told you might need some help."

Sam clenched his fists to stop them shaking. "Did Dean s-send you?"

"No, honey, a young girl named Cara called us."

"Cara, Cara, Cara," Sam stuttered nervously.

"Yes, that's right," Jody replied, a grim look on her face.

"You need to help me; they're going to catch me again. Cat and mouse. They'll take me away and strap me down, slice me up until I'm dust to sprinkle in the wind," Sam insisted desperately.

The deputy looked helpless for a small moment but she schooled her expression, looking determined. "Sam, do you want to get in my car? I'll help you find your family."

"Dean's gonna be mad," Sam mumbled, face wet with tears, his whole body shivered in the cold. Jody must have noticed because she shrugged off her own coat and held it out, waiting patiently for Sam to accept it. Sam just nodded, still hunched over slightly, and Jody went over and draped it over his shoulders.

Sam allowed himself be led to the car. Jody let him sit in the front, which Sam was glad for because he didn't like the look of the bars behind them.

Jody started the engine, pulling back onto the road. Sam leaned against the passenger window, hugging Jody's coat around himself.

"Sam, can you tell me where you live?" Jody asked quietly, eyes flicking over to him briefly.

"Stars… stars come out when it's sunny," Sam said. His thoughts moved too fast in his head. He twitched hard, half his face scrunching and one shoulder jolted.

"I'm going to take you to the hospital, Sam, okay?" Jody said clearly, though obviously worried. "I'll try to get into contact with your family."

Sam wasn't listening to her, the voices in his head were too loud. He didn't even realise he was talking back to them.

He didn't remember arriving at the hospital, just Jody opening the passenger door and gently helping him out onto the pavement. His feet hurt a lot more than he'd thought, the skin on them burning, leaving traces of blood with each step until he couldn't walk anymore, dropping to his knees.

Jody hauled him up gently, his arm slung over her shoulder, her other arm wrapped around his waist. She moved slowly for him and they had barely made it inside before someone came over to help them.

Sam froze at the sight of the nurse; blue scrubs, blue gloved hands, a metal stethoscope around his neck. It was all too familiar for Sam and he backed up into Jody, hyperventilating.

"Sam?" Jody had a firm grip on his shoulders.

"What's happened?" the nurse asked.

"Got a call from a girl at a party, says he freaked out and got kicked out onto the street. She was worried he'd taken something and I'm thinking she might be right," Jody explained.

"Sam, would you come with me please," the nurse said to him, a hand stretched out towards him. Sam shook his head. He would not go back, he wouldn't let them reopen the cracks in his brain.

"Nuh!" Sam grunted, kicking out, trying to scramble out of Jody's arms. The nurse gasped, winded from Sam's kick, but Jody was already calling for more help and then there were more blue hands grabbing at him. Sam just screamed.

They wrestled him inside, past the shocked people in the waiting room and through blue doors. Sam didn't stop kicking and screaming.

"Please!" he begged, sobbing. "Please! No more tests!"

"Shh, sweetie," a nurse tried to smooth his hair down comfortingly, which only caused Sam to panic more. He was pushed down onto a bed, arms forced into a hospital gown and jeans pulled off. His wrists and ankles were yanked, padded material encircling them and tying him to the bed. He felt trapped and he sobbed harder, screaming for Dean.

The nurse didn't take her hand from his head, just frowned and gently parted his hair.

"He's got a surgical scar on the left side of his head here," she informed the others.

A man in a white lab coat moved away from where he was inspecting Sam's feet to look at the scar too.

"Looks new, no older than two years," he noticed, he moved to look Sam in the eye. "Sam, can you tell us what kind of surgery you had?"

Sam just stared at the doctor, wide eyed and whimpering.

"Okay, can you tell us if you took any drugs for recreational purposes?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face into the pillow, crying.

The doctor sighed. "I don't think he's talking. Okay, Janet, finish cleaning his feet up. Does he need stitches?"

"One or two," the nurse replied. Sam could feel her dabbing at the bottom of his feet, cold cotton stinging the open cuts.

"Can I get some blood samples checked?" the doctor went on. Someone must have replied because the sharp prick in the crook of his elbow caused him to jolt, more hands pressed him down.

"If it comes back negative we might need to do a scan. Is anyone looking for relatives?"

"The deputy said she'd take care of that," someone answered from the other side of the room.

"We need to get his breathing under control, can we get some oxygen over here?"

 

Something uncomfortable pressed into his nostrils, a plastic tube looped over his ears and under his chin. Air breathed into him, soft and gentle, but Sam only had memories of sweet smelling gas then a blackness which was followed by new scars. He bucked, trying to tug his hands up to his face but they were securely strapped down.

"Sam, calm down. It's just to help you breathe," the nurse from earlier emerged in his line of sight, a soft smile on her face and a warm hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam didn't calm down, he yanked harder at his constraints.

"If you calm down we can remove the restraints," she advised. Sam didn't listen.

* * *

_Now_

"What the hell was he doing at a party?" Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He was sitting in an empty waiting room, Deputy Mills sitting beside him.

"I don't know," Jody answered. She handed Dean a cup of coffee.

"I called my dad and uncle," he told her, accepting the hot Styrofoam cup, "They're on their way."

He sipped the strong liquid and dropped back into the hard plastic chair. "When can I see Sam?"

"Soon, I'm sure. It's been a while."

Apparently, the hospital staff had thought Sam was tripping balls, but then they saw the scar on his head. The scar Dean never dared to ask about or even look at, he only knew about it because of that damn video tape. The doctor had asked, _when did Sam have brain surgery?_

Dean hadn't known what to say, just broke down in tears.

He'd been left in the waiting room to talk to the deputy while the doctors took care of Sam.

"Excuse me?" a voice from the doorway caught their attention. A small girl stood in the doorway, a bandage over her nose. Her eyes were bruising and her eye makeup was smudged. She stepped into the room.

"I'm Cara Hanson, I spoke to you earlier," she said to Jody, eyes lingering on Dean for a moment.

"Of course," Jody smiled. "Are you okay?"

"Broken nose," Cara laughed humourlessly. "I'll live… I just wanted to thank you for finding Sam. I thought something was wrong and I didn't want him to get hurt."

"It's my job," Jody assured kindly.

"How did you break your nose?" Dean asked curiously.

"Sam did it… I know he didn't mean to," she said softly. "He was terrified."

"You know Sammy?"

Cara blinked at him. "Are you, are you Dean?"

"Yeah… you are?"

"Cara, I was, er, with Sam when he started to… panic."

Dean almost choked on his coffee. "With Sam? As in _with_ him?"

"We didn't go that far," she whispered, flushing with embarrassment.

"Holy shit, Sammy…" Dean whispered disbelievingly.

Cara left soon after, still blushing and wishing Dean and Sam well. 'Look after him', she'd said. Dean almost laughed because of course he would. A doctor came to get him later, Jody promised to keep an eye out for John and Bobby. Dean was taken to a large room, three beds on each side of the room, only the bed at the end was filled.

Sam looked awful, pale and tired, his eyes were slightly glassy.

"He was sedated," the nurse informed him quietly. "He wouldn't calm down. We left one restraint on his wrist, just in case."

Dean nodded, wishing for her to leave. He took a seat next to Sam, who rolled his head to the side to look at him.

"You found me again…" he whispered tiredly.

Dean sighed. "What the hell were you thinking, Sammy? You can't run off like that."

"I had to _be_ Sammy. Sammy would go to parties if they hadn't killed him, he would kiss girls. I tried… I tried… I tried. It didn't work. I'm just rope."

Dean dropped his head into his hands. "What happened, kiddo? You were doing so well. I thought the pills were helping."

"I spat them out," Sam told him, a tear slipping down his cheek. "Don't hate me… save me… before they cut my head open."

Dean took his brother's hand. "You're okay, Sam. No one here's gonna hurt you like that," he huffed a shaky breath. "Why did you spit your pills out?"

Sam shook his head. "Dust in the wind… that's all I'll be."

Dean hushed him. "We'll have to get out here soon, they'll want to send you to a special hospital."

"They'll lock me up, you mean, throw away the key. I'll be gone."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. We might have to leave Sioux Falls."

"M'sorry…"

"I know. It's okay. Try to get some sleep, we'll talk when you wake up."

Sam nodded, closing his eyes. Dean could tell he wasn't asleep so he began to sing.

" _Hey, Jude, don't make it bad, just take a sad song and make it better…"_


	11. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1998, Dean drinks his sorrows away. 2000, Sam and Dean make their escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medical information is to be taken with a few spoonfuls of salt. I'm no professional.

_November 2_ _nd_ _1998_

Whiskey couldn't even numb the pain.

Mom was gone.

Sam was gone.

Whiskey could barely make a dent in the agony Dean had been feeling for the past four months.

 _Mom would be so disappointed,_ Dean thought as he took another slug from the bottle.

He smirked a little. Things had certainly changed. For the first time for as long as Dean could remember his father was sober on November 2nd, whereas Dean was slowly reaching the realm of completely fucked because he didn't have anything to stay sober for. He didn't have a staggering father to help to bed at 4am. He didn't have a little brother to comfort at night and assure _Dad's fine. He just needs some time alone._

Yeah, it was fucking hilarious.

Dean took another drink, and then nestled the bottle between his legs, leaning back against the headboard. Two singles, no spare cot or pull out sofa, please. Just a crappy motel room for two because that's all we have left.

"Half our family is gone," Dean murmured. John looked up from where he sat on the other bed, his back to Dean with a ton of papers piled up around him.

"Sam's not gone… not like your mom. We'll get him back, I promised you, remember?"

Dean snorted. "Okay, tell me when, when you find him," he slurred.

"I think you've had enough, kid," John said, startling Dean with how close he was. Dean hadn't even notice him come over.

"Nuh," Dean protested, weakly trying to shove away his father's hand. "Hey! Tha's mine," he complained when John took the bottle and screwed the lid back on, setting it down on the other side of the room.

"Dean, you can't wallow in self-pity. Drinking yourself unconscious won't help anyone."

"Really?" Dean asked in mock surprise. "I thought it's th'other way 'round. I learned from the _master_ ," he added with a small bow. He almost fell off the side of the bed. John hadn't caught him and held him steady.

"Well, it took me far too long to learn that it was the wrong way of dealing with things, especially when I had two boys to take care of," John said, surprisingly gentle as he began to pull Dean's boots off.

"S'okay… I looked after Sammy," Dean assured him. John sighed sadly.

"That's the problem. Sam's my child, you're both my children, and I shouldn't have shoved so much onto your shoulders. Neither of you really had a chance to be kids. You never had a safe, normal life. I'm sorry."

Dean scoffed. "Normal's over… overrated?" he blinked a couple of times. "Yeah, overted. And nothin's safe, y'either know 'bout scary shit or y'don't know 'bout scary shit… doesn't mean scary shit isn't out there."

"Doesn't mean I was right. I could've left you with Jim or Bobby, they even suggested it, but no, I had to drag you around with me. Now look, Sammy's gone. Mary would be so disappointed with me."

"Nah," Dean shrugged. "I know I was only little, but I know mom wouldn't be disappointed. She'd be mad, pissed… but she'd know you tried your best. You were teachin' us to protect ourselves. I think Sammy'd still be taken if we were normal, 'cept that way we wouldn't know what to do. Probably call the fuckin' cops."

John smiled. "Half a bottle of whiskey makes you pretty wise.

"And dizzy," Dean added.

"You know I'm real proud of you, Dean, the way you looked after Sam, looked after me. You really hold us all together. Your mom would be so proud, I know that for certain."

"But… but Sammy's gone. I should've done somethin'."

"Don't, Dean," John hushed him, helping to pull his jacket off and pull the blankets out from under him. "Don't blame yourself, blame the bastards who took him. Take it out on them, not yourself."

"You're pretty wise when you're sober," Dean quipped with a sleepy smile, climbing under the covers. "Dunno if I like it…"

Dean shut his eyes, sighing tiredly. John stayed there, a hand on his son's shoulder, wondering how they ended up here. When was the last time he'd told Dean he loved him? Or hugged him?

He didn't remember. He didn't remember the last time he'd listened to Sam talk about whatever had gotten his attention at the time and actually felt his heart swell at the enthusiasm his youngest had. He did remember telling Sam to _be quiet_. He didn't remember the last time he'd told Sam he loved him.

He did remember the last thing he'd said to him. _Look after yourself_.

That had been his job, he was supposed to look after Sam, and he'd screwed it up.

He would find Sam. When he did he'd make things right.

* * *

_July 24_ _th_ _2000_

"You're not locking Sam up."

Dean knew this was coming. The doctors had determined that Sam's condition was not a result of drugs or the surgery he'd had on his brain. Dean had managed to lie his way through most questions, when they'd asked if the surgery was for a seizure disorder he'd just said _yes_. It was better than saying _I have no idea what surgery he had because he was kidnapped for two years while some psychos operated on his brain._ No doubt that would get him locked up on a psych ward too.

"Mr Winchester, we're not _locking_ him up. We just want to treat him," the doctor replied, giving Dean an imploring look. The hospital staff still weren't satisfied with the lack of Sam's medical records. "Don't you want Sam to get better?"

 _More than anything_.

"There's nothing wrong with him," Dean argued. "He's better with his family. He won't do well in a hospital, he's already upset about being here."

The doctor eyed Dean sympathetically. "Dean, Sam was with his family when he had this episode. Do you really think he's better off?"

Dean clamped his jaw tight, fists curling. His father, who'd been quiet for most of the conversation, must have seen his son's rising temper and stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Doc, if I'm not mistaken, the hospital can't do anything without the consent of a family member, especially in the case of a minor."

Dean smirked at the doctor because _fuck you very much_.

The doctor just sighed. "That is true, however, there are certain cases where medical professionals may take authority if the patient is a risk to themself or to others. Sam has required stitches on his feet because he forgot to put shoes on, and he broke a young woman's nose - "

"That was an accident, she said it was okay," Dean interrupted.

"That is true but she was still hurt. Sam needs full-time care and medical attention which you are not qualified to give."

"Fuck off! I take care of Sam all the time!"

"Dean!" John snapped. The doctor shot them an understanding look which just pissed Dean off even more.

"I understand, but as I said, Sam was in your care when all of this happened," he took a breath and looked at them in turn, finally speaking to John, "I'm very sorry. I understand mental illness is difficult for family members, but I'm doing what's best for Sam. If you would like to hire a lawyer, then by all means."

He gave them a short nod and turned on his heel, moving swiftly down the corridor and out of sight. Dean was still seething, he began pacing where he was, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"If that jackass takes Sam away I'll rip his freakin' lungs out!"

"Dean, calm down," John ordered. Dean whirled around, huffing. John was standing, arms crossed, head down. "Dean, there's nothing we can do to change this."

Dean's mouth dropped open. "Are you serious? You're gonna let these ass-hats - "

"Dean, we can't change the law, doesn't mean we've always obeyed it."

The younger Winchester's mouth open then closed, "You mean…"

"We're busting Sammy out of here."

"Then what? Taking a patient out of hospital without permission means the cops will be after us."

John shrugged, smiling a little. "They've been after us a few times and every time we've outsmarted them."

"'Cause we're the freakin' Winchesters," Dean added, grinning. John clapped him on the shoulder and led him down the hall.

"I'll park the Impala by the fire exit, the one on the first floor at the back of the building. Got it?"

Dean nodded.

"Good. Bobby and I will make as clear a path for you as we can. We'll wait until the evening, doc says he'd admit Sam to the psychiatric ward tomorrow morning. I already checked and he's on call in the ER tonight so you'll just have to worry about the nurses."

Dean stared at his father, impressed.

"You get Sam down to the Impala and head for Bobby's. Then, pack your things and head over to Jim's."

"I will, Dad. What about you?"

"I'll meet you there. I'll try to keep anyone off your tail then I'll catch up. I'll text you the go ahead later. Now, go check on your brother."

Dean nodded again. Suddenly, John pulled Dean into a hug, surprising him. It took Dean a moment before he managed to reciprocate.

"I'm proud of you, you know that?" John gave him a wink then strode off down the hall.

When Dean returned to Sam's ward he found his little brother sitting up in bed, the table pulled towards him with cards laid out. Sam's nurse Karen was sitting in a visitor's chair on the other side.

Sam set three cards down on the table then looked up, his face lighting up at the sight of his brother.

"Hey! Dean, look! Karen taught me how to play rummy, just like our dog's name."

Dean took a seat next to Sam on the bed, appreciating that Sam was much better today. The kid looked too comfortable in a hospital gown, his feet were bandaged and his long legs stretched out to the end of the bed. He didn't look as tired as he had earlier; in fact he was perked up. Dean hoped he wasn't _too perked up_. The restraints and the nasal cannula were gone but he still had an IV in his hand, delivering saline and whatever meds the doctors wanted to pump into him.

"Sam's a quick learner. Five rounds in and he's kicked my ass each time," Karen informed Dean, giving Sam a warm smile which brought out the dimples on the kids face. Oh boy, Sam had gotten attached.

"Sammy's too smart for his own good," Dean told her, rubbing Sam's back affectionately.

"Oh!" Sam bounced in his seat a little. "Dean, Dean. I saved you my pudding from lunch. I put it… where did I put it? Karen?"

Karen smiled again, placing a gentle hand on Sam's wrist to stop him tapping impatiently. "I put it in the cupboard here, remember?" She bent down to retrieve the pudding cup and handed it to Sam. "He insisted that you have it," she told Dean. "It was very kind of him."

"Well, Sammy's a kind person," Dean answered, taking the cup as Sam handed it over. "Thank you, kiddo."

Sam just grinned, watching Dean expectantly. Karen handed Dean spoon, he peeled off the plastic wrapper lid and dug out a spoonful, shoving it in his mouth. "Mmmm… Sam, I think this is the best pudding I've ever had."

For a moment Sam looked like he'd just won the lottery, then he blushed, ducking his head and going back to his game.

"Am I going home soon?" he asked, tongue between his teeth in concentration. Karen looked up and gave Dean a sympathetic smile.

"We'll talk about that later," Dean replied. Sam shot him a puzzled look so Dean went on to explain. "I wanna see you take Karen down first."

Sam laughed, accepting the challenge. He floored Karen, once again. Dean left him to set up a game for the two of them as Karen took him aside.

"I know the doctor's spoken to you about moving Sam up to the psychiatric floor," she said quietly, glancing over at Sam.

"Yeah, I know," Dean replied stiffly.

"It's for the best. He'll be looked after, I promise."

Dean just nodded.

Karen sighed. "Well, they want to move him in the morning, we don't have any rooms free until then, luckily a patient is checking out then," she paused, noticing Dean's tense expression, "I know it's hard but it really will be a weight off your shoulders - "

"Sam's not a burden," he snapped quietly.

Karen blinked at him, flustered. "I didn't say that."

"You did," Dean hissed.

"Dean," Sam called from his bed.

"Coming, buddy," he answered, then turned back to Karen. "If you don't mind, I'll be spending some time with my little brother. Alone."

Karen nodded. "I'll be on this ward, just press the call button if you need anything," she hurried away after bidding Sam goodbye.

Sam was enthusiastic as he taught Dean to play, and then proceeded to crush him at every round.

"Ich habe gewonnen!" Sam exclaimed after conquering another game. "Du bist nicht gut darin."

"Dude… I don't know what that means. Speak English."

"Huh?" Sam looked up. "What do you mean?"

"You were speaking German or something."

Sam raised an eyebrow, looking at Dean like he was crazy.

"You were," Dean insisted.

Sam mumbled something under his breath, and laughed. "Bist du verrückt?" 

"You just did it again!" Dean blurted. Sam crossed his arms over his chest and gazed at Dean, trying to keep a straight face.

"I swear you did…" Dean stopped, dropping his shoulders with realisation. "You were messing with me?"

"Ja," Sam smirked, shuffling the cards back into the pack. Dean sighed and leaned forward in his chair.

"Sam, we're gonna leave tonight, okay?"

"Okay," Sam replied simply. Dean was surprised, having expected Sam to object since he'd become a little attached to the staff who'd been looking after him. It was odd to see him so comfortable, he'd been terrified at first, caught up in horrible memories, but when Dean explained that he was safe Sam seemed to believe him completely.

The night before Sam had been tear-filled, frightened and paranoid, the next morning had been like nothing had ever happened.

"Mind if I intrude, boys?" Dean looked up to see Jody Mills standing at the foot of the bed. She smiled warmly at them. "Hello, Sam, do you remember me?"

Sam frowned and scratched his head. "M'sorry… I don't know… I think, did you save me from Faceless?"

Jody tilted her head. "Who's that, sweetie?"

"No one," Dean cut in. "It's not important. Sam, Jody brought you to the hospital."

"Oh, yeah," Sam said slowly. "I remember. Sorry. Too much was happening in my head and I nearly tripped on the tangles."

Jody looked a little sad when she gazed at Sam but she covered it with a smile. "I just wanted to come see if you were okay."

"I'm okay," Sam smiled back. "My head's untangled a little but my feet still hurt. Dean says I should sleep in shoes, just in case. Hey… are you okay?"

Jody looked a little startled. "I'm fine, Sam, why do you ask?"

"Because you're pregnant and you should be more careful when you have a baby," Sam explained, tracing pictures over the table with his finger.

"How… how did you know?" Jody gasped. "I haven't even told my mother yet."

"I just know… you're excited and you're being very loud about it."

"I don't understand…" Jody trailed off, looking to Dean.

He gave her a half-smile. "Sam's special. I don't really have any other explanation that'll make sense to you."

Jody had looked pretty freaked out, or amazed, Dean wasn't sure. She'd left not long after to go back to work, leaving Sam and Dean alone. Sam was curled up in the bed sheets, lying on his side, staring at Dean.

"How did you know she was pregnant?" Dean asked.

"What time are we going?" Sam ignored the question, already looking like he was ready to fall asleep.

"When dad gives me the 'go ahead'," Dean explained quietly, eyes peeled for any staff nearby. "We're going to go visit Pastor Jim but we'll go to Bobby's to pack first."

"How long are we staying at Jim's?"

"I don't know, kiddo," Dean said gently. "We'll see."

"Okay," Sam closed his eyes and drifted off. Karen came back to check on them a couple of times, Sam was fast asleep the whole time. Dean didn't blame him after everything that had happened.

Dean's phone alerted him to message at 8pm that night.

_Hilts_

He smirked a little at that and pocketed his cell, leaning forward to rouse his brother.

"Sam," he whispered, shaking his shoulder gently. Sam blinked his eyes open and stared at him.

"What's happening?" he asked with a yawn.

"We're gonna get out of here, okay? We have to go right now."

"Can I say goodbye to Karen first?"

"Sorry, Sam, you can't. We need to go now and you need to be as quiet as possible."

Sam frowned at him, looking confused and a little wary of the sudden urgency.

"Sam, do you trust me?" Dean asked. Sam nodded straight away and began to sit up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Hold on," Dean stopped him, "We need to take that out," he said, gesturing to the IV. Sam held out his hand, it was shaking a little. Dean gave an encouraging smile and peeled the tape off the back of Sam's hand and pulled out the needle as gently as he could.

"Sorry," he said when Sam winced. He helped Sam to his feet, causing Sam to hiss in pain and sit back on the bed.

"Hurts," he explained.

"I know… let's dress you here then." Dean fished Sam's jean's out of the bedside cupboard and helped him pull them on, then he pulled off his own jacket and let Sam slip his arms through.

"Okay, good," Dean said, mostly to himself. "We need to get out here quick. You can't run, can you?"

"Why're we running?" Sam asked.

Dean wouldn't have said it unless it was urgent, and it was. It wasn't as if he were lying.

"The hospital wants to take you from me and dad again so we have to get away now."

Sam's eyes went wide. "No no no. They can't do that… I don't want to. Did Karen know? I thought she was my friend."

"Karen didn't know," Dean lied, feeling a little guilty. "But you need to calm down, okay?"

"Okay."

"I found a wheelchair earlier but I couldn't bring it in here without nurses yelling at me. It's in storage room nearby so we have to walk a little, okay? Then I'll wheel you to the other side of the hospital. We have to use the emergency stairway but… we'll get to that later."

He hauled Sam to his feet, letting his little brother lean heavily on him for support. They took small steps as they made their way to the exit of the room. They stopped in the doorway, checking both directions. Dean didn't recognise any of the staff walking by as Sam's nurses or doctor so they headed out into the hall. Sam hissed a little with each step and Dean winced in sympathy.

"Dean?"

A voice called out, causing him to hurry round the corner. He lost contact with Sam at some point as he whirled around to check who was following. He came face to face with Karen.

"Karen!" Dean cried out in surprise. He began to panic once he realised he couldn't see Sam anywhere. "What are you doing here?"

Karen stared at him like he had two heads. "I work here."

"I know, I know," Dean said casually, still glancing around for Sam. "I meant here, in this, uh, corridor?"

"I saw you come down here…" Karen said obviously. "I thought I saw someone with you. Anyway, I was going to check on Sam, did you tell anyone you were leaving?"

"Yeah," Dean said, eyes darting around for any sign of his brother. "Yeah, he's not on his own. I was just going to find some coffee."

"Cafeteria's the other way," Karen pointed out, gesturing to the sign which, indeed, said that the cafeteria was in the opposite direction.

"Oh, I know," Dean went on, making it up as he went. "I wanted to walk around first, y'know, take in the sights."

"Sights? This is a hospital."

"Yeah… it is," Dean sighed. This was not going well. Sam was gone and Karen wouldn't go away. He was going to have to step it up.

"Honestly, Karen," he said. "I had to stay away from you, being around you makes me so…" he looked away dramatically, "I just don't think I can control myself around you."

"You… what?" Karen flustered.

"The moment I saw you… I just knew," Dean moved closer, lowering his voice seductively. "Your eyes, your lips…"

"Dean…" Karen gasped. "I had no idea. I mean. You're, well, you're gorgeous and of course I…" she cut off, blushing, "But we can't! You're too young and I'm your brother's _nurse_."

"I know," Dean sighed deeply, pouting slightly. "Maybe you should just… go?"

Karen nodded and she backed away, disappearing around the corner.

"You're a terrible liar," Sam said. Dean spun around to see Sam climbing out cart of clean bed sheets nearby. "I don't know why Karen bought that."

"Jesus, Sam, you're like a ninja. How do you do that?"

"Silence is one of your best weapons," Sam replied, sounding like he was reciting it.

Dean would've asked what that meant if he'd had time. Instead, he took Sam's arm and guided him further down the hall to the storage closet. He pulled out a wheelchair and they headed off down the corridor. They went as fast as they could without drawing attention. Sam kept his head down and flicked up the collar of Dean's jacket.

They managed to get to the emergency stairway without being spotted. Dean helped Sam out of the chair, pushing it behind a desk nearby, and they slipped through the door and out of sight.

They were four floors up and the stairs were looking a lot longer than they should. Dean leaned over the railing, and then turned back to Sam.

"Okay, we can do this," he told him, smiling encouragingly.

Sam nodded tiredly and allowed himself to be tugged in the direction of the stairs. They made it halfway down when Sam fell to his knees, the bandages on his feet were seeping spots of red and he leaned against the wall, a slight sheen of sweat across his forehead.

"I can do it," Sam said quietly. "I just need… to sit."

"No, you're not walking any further like this," Dean decided, crouching down in front of him. "Hop on."

"Dean, I'm too big."

"It's fine," Dean brushed the issue aside. "Come on, it'll be like old times."

There was some hesitation before Sam leaned over Dean's back, looping his arms over his shoulders and linking his fingers at his chest. Dean rose to his feet, hooking his arms under Sam's knees.

"See, no problem," Dean assured, determined to get moving because he wasn't sure how much time they had or how much longer he could carry Sam.

He took the steps slowly. A few times he nearly losing his balance but Sam grabbed the wall to steady them. It probably took longer the second half of the way but Dean didn't mind because at least it didn't hurt Sam. He shifted his brother up higher on his back and Sam reached out for the door handle, letting them both out onto the empty alley behind the hospital.

"Oh, Baby," Dean breathed at the sight of the Impala parked on the other side of the street. He glanced around before hurrying across the street and to the passenger side of the car where he set Sam down on the ground. He patted his pockets for the keys.

"I think they're in my jacket," Dean said, turning to Sam who looked quite pitiful with his sleepy face and hospital gown tucked into his jeans. Sam fumbled around Dean's jacket pocket to retrieved the keys, handing them over with a slightly blood-crusted hand where the IV was pulled out.

Dean opened the door and helped Sam inside before settling himself behind the wheel. The engine rumbled to life when he turned the key in the ignition and she growled as they pulled out onto the road.

Dean flicked his gaze between the road ahead and the rear view mirror, checking if anyone was coming after them. He steered the car in the direction of the salvage yard, not feeling at ease at all. Sam yawned beside him and settled himself down across the bench, resting his head on Dean's lap. Dean reached out a hand but stopped himself, hesitating above Sam's head.

"I don't mind you," Sam said quietly. "I understand it now."

He reached up and pulled Dean's hand down onto his head and closed his eyes, letting Dean's hesitant fingers stroke gently through his hair.

"We'll be okay," Dean told him, even after Sam fell asleep. "We'll be okay."


	12. Saviour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1998, Christmas. 2000, Sam pulls a trigger.

_December 24_ _th_ _1998_

The motel was deserted, only a sleepy receptionist and two hunters occupied the place. Snow was falling, fluttering and drifting. The windows were damp, bejewelled with red and gold droplets in the glow of Christmas lights. The roads were abandoned, everyone home for Christmas or building up traffic on the main highways.

It was nineteen minutes to midnight, to Christmas day. The Winchesters had never celebrated Christmas, not really. Growing up, Sam and Dean were used to the holidays without their father, ready and waiting with a sewing needle and a bottle of whiskey to stitch his wounds when he stumbled back in, bloodied and bruised.

Gently fingering the pendant around his neck, Dean remembered the year his little brother had gifted it to him. It was a symbol of their relationship, whether Sam knew it at the time or not. It had been the day Sam learned the truth, and it had been the day he gave all of his trust to Dean in the form of an old golden amulet.

John was working at the table. It was all he seemed to do these days; make calls, research, follow leads. Anything to find Sammy.

Sam seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth. There was no sign of him, no indication as to whether he was dead or alive. His absence was suffocating and Dean could constantly feel the walls closing in on him. He was almost ready to have his breath stolen, to choke on the pain of losing his little brother.

"I'm going for a walk," Dean said, getting up and walking to the door, already turning the handle.

"It's falling pretty heavy," John observed, giving his son a questioning look.

"I won't be long, just need to get out of here," he said. He left before his father could answer.

The chill bit at him but Dean almost welcomed it, the wind against his face made him feel like he could finally breathe. He stepped forward, boots sinking into the blanket of snow, crunching under each step. He trudged along, icy flakes catching onto his hair and eyelashes, wetting his cheeks.

The motel was in the middle of a long stretch of road, surrounded by miles of white countryside. Dean found his way to an empty field, beautifully white and crisp, untouched since the storm began. He found himself hiking to the centre, letting himself be swallowed by the vast whiteness. He sank to his knees, ignoring the icy water soaking into his jeans.

He pulled the amulet over his head, clasping it in his hand, coiling the leather string around his wrist. He looked up, blinking against the oncoming snowflakes, to see the night sky. It was untouched by city lights; every star decorated the horizon like a scattering of diamond dust in the blue-black sky.

Dean glanced at his wrist watch. "11.56pm… almost midnight," he murmured, stroking the amulet in his hand.

"Hey Sammy…" he began, taking a deep breath. "I know you can't hear me wherever you are. I hope… I hope you're okay."

He sank down so he was seated fully in the snow.

"It's been a while, huh? I hope you know I didn't want you to leave, I regret that day more than anything. I miss you, you little bitch," Dean sniffed. "I hope you know that. I hope you know that I'm coming for you, I am. And I hope…"

He choked a sob, burying his face in his hands, almost like a prayer. He could feel the cool metal of the pendant press against his lips.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so goddamn sorry. I know they're… they're hurting you. If I could take any pain away, I would. I'd do it in a heartbeat."

Dean closed his eyes, turning his face skyward.

"I don't pray but I'll pray for you Sammy. I know you believed in it, and that's enough for me."

The alarm from his watch sounded, ringing in his ears against the silence of the field. Dean checked it and switched the alarm off.

"It's midnight. Merry Christmas, little brother."

He wiped his tears and got to his feet, returning to the motel room like he'd never left.

* * *

_August_ _1_ _st_ _2000_

It was exactly two years ago that Sam was taken, two years that had changed so much.

Dean would tell himself that it was over now, they had Sam back, and they had saved him. He knew it wasn't true, he knew those monsters were still out there. He always wondered why they hadn't tried to take Sam, he wondered if they were waiting for something to happen, waiting for Dean to slip up.

They'd been staying with Pastor Jim for almost a week. The police had put out a search warrant for them so Sioux Falls was a no-go. Bobby had already been questioned but he'd played dumb, there was no proof of any association between him and the Winchesters because he wasn't really their uncle. Dean was getting a little antsy being only a two hour drive from where they'd just run from.

God, Dean should have remembered that dumb dog. It should have been obvious. Sam didn't really grasp what was going on, or maybe he did, he just wasn't scared of being caught. Or maybe he was confident he wouldn't be. Dean wasn't sure.

Dean had taken Sam to Bobby's straight from the hospital to pack. Sam had done as he was told, and they didn't take too long since they didn't own much to begin with.

The problem was that Sam thought they were coming back. When he realised he was being separated from Rumsfeld he'd tried to get to dog into the backseat of the Impala. Dean wasn't having it. They hadn't had _time_ for this. He'd tried to explain that the Rottweiler wasn't theirs to take. Sam wasn't having it. Dean's little brother had just bawled his fucking eyes out at the idea of leaving the dog behind. They'd been in the junk yard, ready to hightail it out of there, but Sam had been on the ground, hugging the very life out of Rumsfeld. The dog licked at his face and wagged his tail appreciatively.

Dean had been forced to manhandle Sam into the car, something which involved a lot of kicking and screaming, crying out for the dog. Rumsfeld had followed them to the passenger side and jumped up at the window when Dean managed to secure Sam in the seat and lock door. Sam had pressed his face against the window, hand up against Rumsfeld's paw through the glass.

When Dean had pulled away Sam had climbed into the back seat to look out the rear window. Dean had caught a glimpse of the dog chasing after them and swallowed a lump in his throat. The whole thing had been fucking heart-breaking.

Dean wished he didn't have to do it but they couldn't stay, and the road was no place for a dog, especially one they didn't own. Sam hadn't talked to Dean the whole way to Jim's. Two hours had been filled with Dad's old cassette tapes, Dean's off-key singing and the sound of Sam bitching to God-knows-who in the back about how much he hated Dean.

That had been a few days ago. Since then, their Dad had arrived and listened to Sam bitch about how much he hated Dean. Mandy had come over for Sam's therapy sessions, she'd not been happy about him spitting his pills. Sam had spent most of his time with Jim, constantly badgering him about the bible in an almost obsessive manner. And Dean had just tried his best to look after his brother, despite the fact that Sam pretended he wasn't there, and ended up giving up, getting drunk and hooking up.

It was early morning in the beginning of August and Dean was leaning against the church wall as he lit up a cigarette. They were supposed to head back to South Dakota. Hence, Dean's third cigarette since he'd woken up; he was freaking nervous. They would never go back if they didn't have a good enough reason and Pamela Barnes was the best reason they had. Bobby had said she's the best psychic in the state, someone who might actually be able to help Sam.

From Pamela's they were going to make a long trip to Whitefish, Montana to stay at a safe house for the foreseeable future. John had decided a fresh start far away would be the most likely way to keep Sam safe from anyone who might be after them.

Dean sighed, cigarette sitting between his lips, and he closed his eyes. He didn't hear footsteps or clothes crinkling or soft breaths. He just felt the cigarette as it was pulled from his mouth, he opened his eyes.

Sam was leaning against the wall next to him, eyeing the cigarette as he held it between his fingers. Dean winced, almost certain that this would make Sam hate him even more. Instead, Sam brought it to his lips and inhaled.

Dean blinked at him. He really hadn't expected that.

Sam had a curious look on his face the whole time until he breathed the smoke out and coughed, disgust curled at his mouth.

"I don't like that," he commented and dropped the half-finished cigarette on the ground and crushed it under his shoe.

"I wasn't finished - " Dean sighed. "Never mind."

Sam leaned over and fished Dean's pack out of his pocket and began to read the information.

"Those things will give you lung cancer," Dean joked, quoting a much younger Sam.

Sam dropped the packet carelessly on the floor and looked up to Dean, surprising him with a small smile. "There are worse things than lung cancer," he said. "Like going insane."

Sam grinned to himself, obviously finding it funny.

"How would you know?" Dean asked, his lip quirking up at the corner. "Maybe you're the sane one and everyone else isn't."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I don't like the look of the world if my eyes are right," he said, pushing himself off the wall. "Dad says we're going soon."

He walked back to Jim's back door and stopped just outside. "I'm sorry for ignoring you. I was wrong to be angry; you were just trying to protect me."

Then, he disappeared inside.

Huffing, Dean bent down to retrieve his cigarette packet. He almost pulled one out, to make up for the one Sam crushed into the ground, instead he slipped the pack back into his pocket and followed Sam into Jim's kitchen.

Jim was at frying bacon, the room was warm and filled with the homey scents of fresh baked bread and seasoned scrambled eggs. Sam had taken a seat next to their father and was already shovelling a mound of toast onto his plate.

"Leave some of that for everyone else," John scolded, barely looking up from his newspaper. Sam scowled and returned only one piece of toast. He was building quite an impressive plate for himself, a small mountain of eggs, spoonfuls of fried tomatoes and a rather disgusting layer of hot sauce over the whole thing.

"Dude, seriously?" Dean snatched a slice of toast from the bottom of Sam's pile and shoved it into his mouth. Sam didn't look very pleased when the rest of the bread pile tumbled off the plate and onto the table like a game of Jenga.

Sam stabbed a slice of toast with his fork and began nibbling at it. Jim set a plate of bacon down, he was about to serve everyone when Sam dropped his speared toast, the fork clanging off his plate, and helped himself to half.

"Sam!" John snapped. "What's gotten into you?"

"Hungry," Sam shrugged his mouth full of bacon. He sighed deeply, pushing back in his chair and resting his feet on the table for a moment before changing his mind and swinging them back to the ground. He groaned and got to his feet.

"What's going on?" John asked Dean, trying to keep track of Sam as he paced around the table, huffing and looking entirely uncomfortable.

"I think he's nervous about seeing Bobby's friend, the psychic chick," Dean explained after a moment of thought. Sam returned to his seat, dropping down with an irritable moan. John leaned over to pat his shoulder comfortingly but he stopped short and twitched his nose.

"Why do you smell like cigarettes?" he asked, turning to Dean with a more ferocious tone. "Why does he smell like cigarettes?"

Dean's mouth opened and closed, he was beginning to understand what a deer felt like when it was caught in the headlights. He managed to get a small sound out when Sam spoke up.

"I tried a cigarette. I didn't like it," he explained, pushing his full plate to the centre of the table so he could flop forward and bury his head in his arms.

John glared at Dean.

"He just took it out my mouth," Dean protested. "He was doing it before I could stop him. It was one drag, Dad; it's not going to kill him."

John still didn't look entirely satisfied with the explanation but he went back to finishing his breakfast anyway. When Sam rejected the rest of his food Dean stepped up to the plate, literally, and shovelled the rest of it down.

They helped Jim clear up; Jim washed dishes, John dried and Dean put away, then Sam would rearrange the cupboards so the entire thing was exactly symmetrical and colour coded. The Winchesters were never the most domestic of people; they never usually had plates to clear away, just takeout boxes. Since Sam had come back they'd settled into an odd place. They didn't hunt anymore; they went grocery shopping and watched movies together. If Dean was being honest with himself he'd admit that he enjoyed it, their family had never been closer. But he was still scared of the day his dad would ditch one night, unable to resist the hunt anymore.

They bid Jim farewell, which was a sombre affair since they were unsure when they'd next see him. Sam had clung to the Pastor like he'd never let go, when he did his eyes were wet. Jim gave Sam a bible, apparently the kid had begged for one. They were on the road before midday.

* * *

The trip took four hours, which was nothing compared to the almost fifteen hour journey they'd be taking to Whitefish. Sam was still looking unhappy about the whole thing, grouching in the back seat.

"Sammy, relax, okay?" Dean turned around in his seat to look at him. Sam just glared at him.

"I know sometimes you don't get what's happening but I promise it's to help you," he went on when Sam didn't answer.

Sam scoffed. "I always _get_ what's happening. I _get_ everything. I'm smarter than the two of you put together. You have no idea!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Always modest, aren't you?"

Dean loved his brother, he really did, but sometimes the kid was insufferable. It had been annoying enough before when Sam would _constantly_ correct Dean, as if he were an idiot, but things were amped up ten times now. If Sam was happy, he was ten times as happy. If he was in a bad mood, he was the spawn of Satan himself.

By the time they reached Pamela's house Sam had fallen asleep in the back with a bible open on his chest. When he woke up, he still wasn't very enthusiastic to meet a psychic.

Sam was fidgeting on the porch as they waited for Pamela to answer the door; when she did Dean did a double take. To put it simply, Pamela was hot. Like, really hot. She was older than Dean, maybe near her thirties. She had wavy brown hair and a smile that made you think she knew something you didn't. Considering that she was a psychic, that was probably true. She had a cropped band tee on and a pair of jeans that hugged in all the right places.

"Bobby's friends I'm guessing," she said, a very subtle twang to her accent.

"John Winchester," their father extended his hand and Pamela gave it a strong shake.

"I'm Pamela. Nice to meet you," she grinned, turning to the brothers. "I'm guessing you two are Sam and Dean."

"I'm Dean," Dean put on his best seductive voice, leaning forward casually.

"Good for you," she smirked, stepping aside. "Come on inside."

Sam laughed, giving Dean a smug look as he passed him to go inside. John kept a firm hand on Sam's shoulder as he steered him into the hallway. They ended up in a living room, which was too dark and traditional to be associated with Pamela. She took Sam gently by the shoulders and faced him, both hands lingering in the air by his head.

"May I?" She asked. Sam bit his lip, looking to his brother and father who both gave him a nod of encouragement.

"Mmhmm," Sam barely replied, squeezing his eyes shut as though he was preparing for something awful.

"I won't hurt you, Sam, I'm going to help you," Pamela reassured him. "I'm going to put my fingers to your head now, okay?"

Sam nodded. She was very gently but Sam still jerked slightly when she touched him. Pamela closed her eyes and Sam relaxed a little. The room was quiet for a few minutes, John and Dean watching with intense curiosity as though something explosive were about to happen.

Pamela frowned a little and opened her eyes, pulling her hands away. Sam looked up at her.

"I don't know how to stop it," he said quietly.

"I know," she replied, smiling at him gently.

"Stop what?" Dean cut in. "What's wrong?"

Pamela looked to Sam who gave her a small nod. They all took a seat. Sam curled up in a large armchair, his face resting on his knees, watching them all silently.

"Sam's psychic, that's for sure," Pamela told them. "It seems like he's an empath. A strong one too, as well as having precognition."

She took a deep breath. "Now, here's the problem; most psychics show signs of ability at an early age, from then on they spend years practising and perfecting until they can use them safely. Sam's abilities have been dormant, locked inside his head, and they've been forced out. Sam has had a huge amount of power thrust on him and he's not been taught how to use it or control it."

"I tried to tell them," Sam muttered from the corner.

Pamela nodded her understanding. "Sam's condition has made it even more difficult to keep it under control, his head's too chaotic for both mental and psychic reasons. That's probably why it's hard for him to explain it to you."

"Explain what?" John asked.

"As I said, Sam's an empath, meaning he can _feel_ other people's emotions. And in a way, their thoughts too. But because his powers were forced to full capacity rather than nurtured, he can't control it. Sam can feel _everything_. He can feel the emotions of _everyone_ around him. That could be anger, happiness, sadness, irritation. It's overwhelming and he doesn't understand how to filter it to the point that he can't even filter his own emotions."

Suddenly it all made sense to Dean. Sam always said he was _tangled up_ , tripping over _everything_.

 _I am everywhere_. Sam had said that more than once.

"Can you fix it?" Dean asked hopefully.

"I can't _fix_ anything. I can show him how to control it."

"How long would that take?" John cut in. "We can't stay in South Dakota for too long."

Pamela sighed, looking at Sam sadly. "I can show him some techniques, but it'll take a lot of practice. He can have my number too, if he needs help."

"Thank you," John told her sincerely.

They spent a few more hours with Pamela, Sam seemed oddly relaxed with her, Pamela explained she was an expert in hypnosis. They left by the time it was getting dark and Sam still looked a little serene.

"Did she dope you up or something?" Dean asked as he helped Sam into the back seat.

"He's fine, he'll wake up a bit more pretty soon," Pamela called from the porch. She waved them off as they pulled out onto the road, heading for Montana.

"Man, she was hot," Dean sighed to himself.

"She was nice," Sam piped up from the back seat, sitting up to lean over the front.

"No, dude, she was _hot_ ," Dean argued. He turned to face Sam, a thought suddenly popping into his head. "Hey, Sam, I never got to ask about it before but… that girl in Sioux Falls, er, Cara?"

"Cara was nice," Sam said.

"Yeah. About that. Did you two… _did_ you?

Sam smirked. "Did I what?"

"Don't make me say it, I don't want to think about you doing stuff like that," Dean scowled. John kept his eyes on the road but Dean could tell by his clenched jaw that he was listening.

"We kissed. A lot," Sam explained, looking quite pleased with himself. "She took my shirt off, she took hers off. We kissed more. She tasted like cherries. Then things went… wrong."

"Early, huh?" Dean said smugly.

"No! Ew, Dean!" Sam shoved him. "I punched her in the face. Accidentally."

"I'm not sure which of the two is worse," Dean quipped.

"Enough, boys!" John snapped. "I do not want to hear about you two and your _escapades_."

"Okay, okay," Dean surrendered. "I'm going to sleep anyway."

Dean leaned against the passenger window and closed his eyes, wishing he was in bed, or at least had a pillow. Despite how much Dean loved the Impala, she was not the comfiest place to sleep. He ended up drifting in and out, at one point he woke up to an empty road, only one other car was behind them. There was a soft breeze which got a little stronger, tickling at the back of Dean's neck.

His gun was gone by the time he realised someone had even put their hand in his coat and he shot up, whirling around in his seat to see Sam half-hanging out the window, his hair billowing in the wind as he aimed the gun into the distance and fired.

The Impala came skidding to a halt at the sound of the gun going off. Dean threw his hands out to stop himself hitting the dashboard. Sam had slipped back into his seat, clicking the safety back on and handing the gun back to Dean as if he'd just borrowed a pen.

Dean took the gun quickly and got out the car, the sound of his father's door creaked on the other side. Not far behind them was the other car, swerved into a ditch on the side of the road, its headlights cast over an empty field.

"Holy shit," Dean breathed, picking up a run after his father as they headed over to the car. The man inside was dead, his windscreen was cracked and there was a bullet wound to his head.

"Holy shit!" Dean almost shrieked. Sam emerged beside them, eyeing the scene with little interest.

"It's okay," he said. "I fixed it. He's gone. We can get away now."

"What did you do?!" Dean cried, close to hyperventilating. "What the fuck did you do?!"

"I saved us," Sam defended.

"You killed someone!"

Sam paled a little, looking more shocked at the tone of Dean's voice than what he'd done.

"You killed someone…" Dean whispered his disbelief.

John was staring at Sam, his eyes wide and terrified. He cleared his throat, clenching his jaw.

"Sam," he said, as calmly as he could. "Why did you do this?"

Sam cocked his head to the side, as if he didn't understand why he was being asked. He marched over to the passenger side door of the crashed car and yanked it open. He leaned inside and rummaged around for a while before moving onto the trunk. He came back to them with a pile of things in his arms and dumped them on the ground in front of them.

"I saved us," he said, a little more clearly as though they hadn't heard the first few times.

Dean and John bent down to look at what Sam had dropped there. The first thing Dean noticed was a gun and a pair of handcuffs.

"Oh shit. You killed a cop," Dean rasped, dropping to his knees. John was still looking through the other things, understanding crossed his face.

"No, Dean. Look," he said. Dean looked. There were papers, he flicked through them to find a profile on Sam, a photo clipped to it which was identical to the one they'd found in his file. There were tranquilisers, photos of Sam in the back seat of the Impala, walking down a sidewalk with Dean, eating breakfast at Jim's that morning.

"I saved us," Sam said again, more gently this time.

"They were coming for you," Dean breathed, realising. "They knew where you are."

He looked back at the car, a gunshot straight to the head from a moving car in the dead of night. Sam had saved them. Sam was fucking scary sometimes.

"They must have known where we were going," John said. "Whitefish is off the table."

"Where do we go now?" Dean asked, still a little breathless.

"It's obvious we need back-up. We can't go to South Dakota without worrying about the cops and Jim's place is probably on their radar. Boys, we're going to Nebraska."

"The roadhouse?"

John nodded, already heading back to the car. "We need to clean this mess up," he called back.

Dean turned to Sam who was looking at him sheepishly. "Don't hate me," he said.

"I don't hate you," Dean sighed. "You freaked me out a bit, that's all."

"I saved us," Sam insisted.

"Yeah, Sammy. You saved us."


	13. Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1999, John and Dean remember Sam's birthday. 2000, Sam's switch is flipped.

_May 2_ _nd_ _1999_

"He turns sixteen today."

It was the first time John had spoken since they had climbed into the Impala five hours ago. He doesn't say it like he's reminding Dean, because of course Dean remembers, Dean doesn't ever stop thinking about it. Sammy.

"Remember your sixteenth?" John asked after a moment's silence.

"Yeah," Dean mumbled, eyes still trained on the landscape flickering by the passenger window.

"I gave you your first beer," John went on after Dean didn't say anything. "Sammy was real jealous that I wouldn't let him have one too. I think he wanted to join in more than anything."

"You let me drive the Impala too," Dean added, smiling. "You sat in the passenger seat and Sammy was in the back."

"Hell of a backseat-driver for an eleven year old," John chuckled, " _Dean you have to indicate_ and _Dean did you check the rear view mirror?"_

"God, I forgot about that," Dean said. "The little nerd had read a whole book about driving."

"He likes to know things," John said fondly. "He always liked to be one step ahead."

"He didn't even need to try, he was smart enough already," Dean reminded him. "I swear he had a photographic memory…"

Dean trailed off, realising they'd stopped referring to Sam in the present tense.

"Do you think he's still alive?" Dean's voice cracked a little. "It's almost been a year."

John took a deep breath. "If he wasn't we'd know. They wouldn't go to this much effort to get rid of him."

"What do you thinks he's doing right now?"

John didn't answer at first, carefully steering the Impala onto the side of the road. He sat back in his seat and sighed again, sounding weary.

"He's probably giving them hell, that's for sure. He's probably waiting for us to find him."

"We will," Dean said, sounding sure and determined. The two of them locked gazes for a moment, seeing the pain and fear reflecting from the other's eyes, noting the dark circles from sleepless nights and creases of worry.

"And when we get Sammy back we'll give him a sweet sixteen to make up for it," Dean decided. "We'll hire him a limo and he can ride in on an elephant and drink all the beer he wants."

John snorted. "I can't imagine him enjoying a limo. He'd like the elephant though."

"I mean it though," Dean said seriously. "The kid's never had a real birthday before. He's never had a real _anything_."

John gazed at him thoughtfully.

"Do we keep hunting?" Dean went on. "When we get him back."

"You want to quit hunting?" John clarified. "Then what?"

"I don't know, but I won't put Sam in any danger again, he comes first. And I mean that, Sam comes before everything, including the demon that killed mom."

John took a heavy breath, slowly nodding. "You're right."

Dean blinked. "I am?"

"Yeah. My priorities were always screwed and," he paused. "And losing Sammy, that's made things clear to me, I know what my most important job is now, and that's taking care of you boys."

Dean was speechless. He never thought he'd hear those words from his father's mouth.

John huffed a laugh. "It's been a while since I did the whole _normal_ thing."

"Tell me about it," Dean agreed. "So, what do we do?"

"We find your brother and, whatever state he's in, we'll fix him," John decided. "Then we'll go from there."

* * *

_August 2_ _nd_ _2000_

They drove through the night, putting the wrecked car and the corpse in its driver's seat as far away as possible. Dean was on edge, foot tapping, eyes trained on the horizon. John was silent, but he'd filled the quiet with old cassette tapes. Sam seemed completely at ease, like nothing had happened, which only proved to his father and brother how used to this kind of thing Sam was.

Sam was currently lounging across the back bench, singing along, slightly off-key, to Black Sabbath's _War Pigs_. Dean peered over his shoulder; Sam's eyes were closed and he had a stupid grin on his face as he sang. He looked like the mouse that had slipped between the cat's claws.

Sam had _saved_ them. He'd saved himself. Sam was over the moon.

"Sammy?" Dean called. Sam opened his eyes and looked up to grin at his brother.

"Creeping fingers won't tickle my brain," he sing-songed triumphantly.

"No, they won't," Dean agreed. "I didn't say before, Sammy, but thank you. You did save us. Just… maybe tell us what's going on next time, huh?"

"Tell you," Sam confirmed. "Got it."

They stopped at a drive thru when they were almost at the Roadhouse, mostly because Dean kept moaning about how he hadn't eaten anything in _forever_. Sam, who had never been one to particularly enjoy junk food, tried to lean through the driver's window and order three meals for himself. John was being squashed into the wheel, trying to yank Sam out of the way. Dean had been laughing until John had barked at him to do something.

"Come on, Ronald McDonald," Dean sighed, prying Sam away from the window to sit beside him in the front.

"Did he get the strawberry milkshake?" Sam asked worriedly. "Dad, did you get the strawberry milkshake?"

"Yeah, I got it," John told him wearily. In fact, he got everything Sam had asked for. They kept on going, Sam and Dean eating their food while John drove, occasionally putting his hand out as Sam dropped a few fries into it. John shoved the whole lot in, cheeks puffing out, which made Sam giggle.

"How long are we staying with your friend?" Sam asked, peeling open the wrapper from his second cheeseburger, he grimaced at the sight of a gherkin, which he removed and dropped onto Dean's half-eaten sandwich. Dean happily ate it.

"Ellen says we can stay as long as we need," John told him, taking the next exit.

"She owns a bar?" Sam said, mouthful of bread and meat.

"Yeah, we can play pool if you want," Dean suggested. "And hang out with Jo and Ash. Did you know they helped us find you?"

Sam looked at him, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah," Dean smiled.

"And they can't wait to meet you," John added. He'd spoken to Ellen on the phone after they'd covered up the mess Sam had made, also making contact with Caleb, Josh and Bobby for extra backup. John and Dean were going to keep as many eyes on Sam as possible to make sure he couldn't be plucked away from under their noses.

Sam sank back into his seat, leaning on his big brother's shoulder with a warm smile on his face. Dean let his fingers rest on Sam's shoulder, squeezing lightly. John looked over with a fond smile. For the first time in a long time, in that moment, Dean felt safe. Sam was with them, they were all together, at home in the Impala. Dean would take that moment and store it safely, knowing everything was far from over.

The roadhouse was quiet when they pulled up, the ramshackle building stood quietly, the late summer sun beating down and glinting off the Impala. John retrieved the car keys, the engine rumbled and stuttered into silence. The three of them sat and stared for a moment, Sam taking in his new temporary home. John and Dean noted how little the place had changed since they last visited.

The front door of the Roadhouse opened, and Ellen stepped out before the Impala's doors had croaked shut. She smiled with relief at the sight of them, brushing a strand of brown hair behind her ear. She was dressed in regular clothes, no work apron, Dean noticed

"Hey, boys!" She called, striding over to yank Dean into a hug. Dean was surprised by the force of it, for someone so much smaller than him she had a strong grip. She pulled away and put her hands on his face, checking every angle in the sunlight like a mother would.

"You've grown up, kid. And you need some sleep," she said, eyebrow raised at John.

"Nice to see you too, Ellen," Dean replied fondly, shooting his father a helpless look.

John came around the other side of the car, as timidly as a man like John Winchester was capable of being, and he reached out to take Ellen's hand. She shook her head and jerked him into a hug too. John took a moment before he reciprocated, looking genuinely pleased to be in Ellen Harvelle's good books.

"I haven't seen you two in months, and that's how you greet me?" she scolded, still smiling. "A handshake?"

"Yes, ma'am," John replied jokingly. Ellen's eyes wandered over them; taking everything in. When she finally looked at Sam she smiled warmly. Dean turned around to find his little brother half-hidden behind him, thumbnail resting nervously between his teeth.

"I'm guessing you're Sam," Ellen said. "It's great to finally meet the man himself."

Sam nodded and ducked his head. Dean sighed and wrapped an arm around his little brother's shoulders, carefully manoeuvring him forward.

"He's being shy," Dean said, almost apologetically. "Just give him a minute to get used to it."

Sam stayed where he was a while longer, everyone waited patiently. He was staring curiously at Ellen the whole time. Dean realised he was reading her, probably feeling what she was, seeing if she was a threat. It seemed like he'd decided she was safe when he stepped forward and let himself be pulled into her arms. For someone so tall, certainly taller than Ellen, Sam could make himself look like a child in her arms. He tilted his head and whispered in her ear. Ellen's face lit up with shock at whatever he'd said. Slowly, she nodded, letting him pull away. Her eyes flickered over to John before she signalled them to follow her inside.

The bar was empty, even the pool table had no Ash passed out on its surface.

"Slow business?" Dean asked, taking a seat on one of the bar stools, keeping his eyes on Sam as the kid wandered around to inspect the area.

"Business is fine," Ellen replied drily. "I closed today for you lot. From what your Daddy said on the phone it seems like it would be better for Sam not to get too crowded straight away.

She wiped down the bench and leaned on it. "What can I get you?" She asked with wink.

"Beer," John and Dean both said. Ellen pulled two bottles from the fridge and handed them over.

"What would your brother want?" She asked Dean, looking over to where Sam was inspecting a pool cue.

"Just give him water," Dean told her. "Too much sugar makes him… excited these days, and he's already eaten too much crap today."

Ellen nodded. "Water it is," she agreed, grabbing a bottle from the fridge.

"Sammy, you want to come over here and get a drink?" Dean called over his shoulder.

"No. I have to pee," Sam hollered back, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"You want me to take you?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not five, Dean. You worried I'll miss?"

Dean sighed. "Leave the door open. If you're not done in five minutes, I'm coming to find you."

Sam just glared at him, and then flicked his gaze to Ellen.

"Bathroom's first door on your right, honey," she said, pointing him in the right direction. Sam padded off, muttering to himself, or to someone else perhaps, about overbearing older brothers.

The three of them watched him go and waited for the bathroom door click shut.

"Did he take his pills today?" John checked with Dean.

"'Course, Dad, I checked his mouth after too."

"I think I need an update," Ellen cut in. "I didn't have much to begin with, and neither of you bothered to answer your phone these past months."

"We've been pretty busy, Ellen," Dean defended.

Ellen's expression softened. "I know, sweetie, I'm sorry. I know about the… car accident you had last night, but before that all I knew was that you got him back and he wasn't doing so good."

"It's been..." Dean paused, "hectic is the right word. He was pretty bad, then we got him a doctor, got him some pills. We thought he was doing okay but turned out he was spitting, ended up in hospital. They were going to admit him to the psych ward so we busted him out. We were on our way to Whitefish when Sam noticed we had a follower. You know the rest."

"What's his diagnosis?" She asked.

"It wasn't official but she was saying PTSD with psychosis, thought disorder and, um, OCD tendencies and a possible personality disorder," Dean explained. "Also he's got some out of control psychic abilities that mess with his head. We're not sure how much of it is psychic and how much is mental."

"My god," Ellen said quietly. She looked them both in the eye. "Psychic? That makes sense after what he said to me."

"When he whispered to you?" Dean asked, and Ellen nodded. "What did he say?"

"He said that his dad didn't mean for… for Bill to die. He said Bill couldn't be saved," she said, eyes close to watering. John gulped and looked down at his hands.

"I didn't understand how he would know," she went on. "I was sure John would never tell you boys."

"I'm sorry, Ellen," John said quietly. Ellen didn't answer, just gave him a small nod. Before the silence became too awkward for Dean, Sam strolled back into the bar.

"Can we play pool?" he asked Dean, and then turned to Ellen. "Dean said you have a daughter."

"I do," Ellen told him, smiling proudly. "Her name's Joanna, she's sixteen."

"Where is she?" Sam wondered, glancing around like she might pop out from behind the bar.

"She's at school."

"Oh, okay. Dean, she can play pool with us too."

"I'm sure she can," Dean said, setting up their game. Sam looked over at Ellen sheepishly.

"I won't kiss her, I promise. The last girl I kissed broke her nose."

Ellen blinked at him, turning to John who sighed. "Long story. I'll fill you in later," he said.

Sam and Dean played pool, and Sam won every round, which was getting on Dean's nerves. At some point during the afternoon Ash appeared, looking half-awake as he stared at them all in confusion.

"Winchesters," he yawned, then pointed at Sam. "That one's new."

"That's Sam," Ellen reminded him. "Remember the boy you helped them look for?"

Ash frowned deeper before his eyebrows rose in surprise. "Sam? Sam! Nice to meet you, dude! You look older than the picture your folks showed me."

"It's my body's reaction to time passing," Sam said, not even looking as he scored another shot.

"Man, now you're just showing off," Dean complained, he took a swig of his beer. "And don't be such a smartass."

Sam suppressed a smirk.

Jo returned from school in the late afternoon, she gave Dean a quick hug, nodded to John then dropped her bag on the bar, looking at Sam curiously. Sam was busy, doing something or other, Dean couldn't tell what.

"Sam," John called. "This is Jo."

Sam's head popped up from behind a table in the far corner. At the sight of Jo he grinned and went over, extending his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Sam," Jo said, taking his hand. She let out an _umph_ in surprise when she was yanked into Sam's arms.

When he was done, he held her at arm's length and said, very seriously, "I promise I won't break your nose."

Dean snorted with laughter at the look on Jo's face.

"Well, that's good," She replied good-naturedly.

As Ellen was cooking them all dinner she forced John to peel potatoes. Ash had offered to show Sam his computer programs and the two were sitting at the bar on Ash's laptop. Dean was in a booth with Jo on the far side of the roadhouse.

"Was he always like this?" Jo asked, looking over at Sam.

"No," Dean sighed. "Captivity changed him, and I don't blame him after what happened."

"What happened?"

"We don't know for sure," Dean said. "We know he spent a lot of time in solitary, and that knocked a few screws loose. They did something to him, cut his head open, I don't know what else. We just know that they made him stronger, smarter. Josh thinks they were making weapons."

"Jesus," Jo breathed. "He seems so… innocent, you know? Almost like a child."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, but he could take down a werewolf with his bare hands, I don't doubt it," he paused, "I feel like I'm waiting for something to happen. He's had incidents because of his mental health, you know? But there's something else, like a bomb waiting to go off, like _they_ have the detonator."

* * *

Sam liked the roadhouse. It was old and creaky; it smelled like dust and spilled alcohol. It had so many stories to tell. Sam could feel the footprints left behind by passing hunters. He was beginning to feel comfortable there, even after only a few hours, but Ash and Harvelles were nice. He missed Bobby and Pastor Jim and Rumsfeld, but his dad had told him Caleb and Josh were coming to visit and Bobby was coming along too.

It made him feel safe to be with familiar people, even the Harvelles felt warm to him. Ellen had that glow of motherly love that Sam had rarely seen in his life, the love she felt for Jo was so overwhelming that he couldn't help but love Jo too. Ash was funny and smart; he was maybe one of the few people who understood what Sam was talking about because he had a gift for decoding.

They'd pulled some of the tables together in the bar to make one big enough for them all and they were sitting down for dinner; mashed potato, chicken, peas, bread rolls and gravy. Dean had insisted he fill Sam's plate for him, most likely because he was worried Sam would pile up an obscene amount. He'd also forced him to take his pills before eating, checking under his tongue and everything. As if Sam hadn't learned his lesson.

He felt normal for the first time in a long time. No one stared at him like some fragile boy that needed tender hands to hold him together, and no one stared at him like he was part of a circus freak show. Everyone seemed at ease, happy to be around him. Of course, there was still a hum of worry. Sam couldn't deny he felt that himself after they'd been followed the other night. He hadn't wanted to scare his dad and Dean, but there wasn't any time to warn them. The Captors would have known that Sam had told on them and they would not have been kind to his family because of it. They'd done that before, left their ears in the wall so they could listen to him, he didn't want to risk it again so he'd done what he'd done and killed the man, like he'd done many times before. No matter how many times Sam did it, it never got easier.

He tried to forget about it, the man hadn't been good anyway. Sam had to protect his family from them. John and Dean knew how much of a monster he was now, and they hadn't run away. They didn't hate him like he thought they would, and because of that Sam was happy.

He joined in the dinner conversation when he could; putting extra effort in to make his words make sense. He laughed in all the right places. Jo talked about normal things like school, which made Sam wonder how he'd be if he hadn't been crumbled to dust and glued back together again. Maybe he'd be in school, too.

They were helping to clear the dishes when Caleb and Josh showed up, soaked from the sudden pour of rain which had started.

"Hey, John, Dean," They nodded in the other hunter's direction. "Hello, Ellen," called when she popped her head around the kitchen.

"Jo!" Caleb beamed when she ran over to hug him. "How are you doing, kid?"

"I'm good, just school and stuff, you know? Nothing exciting like what you do," she said, glaring in her mother's direction. Caleb sighed.

"Nothing glamorous about my job," he said seriously, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the peg by the door. Sam sat and watched their conversation from the corner of the booth he sat in, finding it curious that they seemed to be well acquainted. He'd known Caleb for years but he'd never met Jo until that day.

"Hey, Sam," Caleb said, smiling when he noticed him. Sam ducked his head, a little embarrassed to be caught watching, but he stood up to greet him anyway. Caleb was hesitant, the last time he'd seen Sam, though it wasn't long ago, Sam had not felt…well at the time. Sam sensed his trepidation and stepped into Caleb's arms.

He constantly felt the need to assure people, especially after recent events, though he found it difficult sometimes to find the right words or actions. Mostly he just observed others and did what they did.

Josh and Caleb went off to find a motel later that night, promising to return in the morning. Ellen's bar had rooms around the back where she lived with Jo and Ash and there wasn't enough room for everyone. John was sleeping on the couch in their living room and Sam and Dean shared the bed in the Harvelles' spare room.

Sam was sitting on the bed; teeth brushed, pills swallowed and psychic exercises done over the phone with Pamela. Dean was putting their things away in the empty set of drawers, which clarified for Sam that they'd be staying there for a while.

"I'm sorry," Sam spoke up. Dean paused and turned around, looking confused.

"What for?"

"It's my fault we had to leave Bobby's," he said. "I'm the reason you don't hunt anymore. All you do is look after me and it's not fair. I'm so sorry, Dean. I try to be right but I'm not, they smashed me, or Sam, I don't know. They were, they were - "

He broke off, a tear slipping down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, a little surprised. He never talked about them, not really, he'd never truly thought about what they were. They were just humans who broke children to save the world.

"Hey now," Dean hushed him gently, coming to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. "It's okay."

Sam shook his head. It wasn't okay. It never had been.

"It is," Dean promised. he pulled Sam into his arms and Sam rested his head on Dean's chest, allowing him to stroke his head. A gesture that didn't scare Sam like it used to.

"You're here with me, and dad, and everyone else," Dean went on. "And none of this is your fault, okay? Remember that. You never asked for any of this."

Sam sniffed.

"And I don't want you to ever think that you're a burden to me. Looking after you, that's my job, has been ever since I was five years old. I would never give that up. Besides, you look after me too."

"Not like you do. I'm a mess."

Dean snorted. "Who isn't, Sammy? This is a messed up world."

Sam couldn't disagree with that. Dean ducked down to look Sam in the eye.

"You are never going to be anything less than everything to me. Got it?"

Sam nodded. Dean grinned.

"Good, now go to bed, Sasquatch."

Sam climbed under the blankets, lying so he was facing away from the window, feeling safer with Dean's chin resting on his head and the curtains shut. He closed his eyes, waiting for dreams of Dean begging Sam for his life. He fell asleep with the hairs pricked up on the back of his neck and the strong feeling of being watched.

* * *

_August 3rd, 2000_

Ellen opened the bar the next day. They didn't get any customers until the afternoon, just a few hunters stopping by for a drink after a job. Some Dean didn't know, and a couple of them he did know such as Travis who'd helped keep an eye out when Sam was missing. Travis hadn't heard anything since he'd found out Sam had been found and he was eager to meet the boy again. Sam was timid but polite through the encounter, clearly wanting to read the book Jo had lent to him rather than make small talk.

Travis returned to his group, leaving Sam and Dean at the bar. Dean had offered to help Ellen out by working, it was a good way to thank her for taking them in, at the same time he could keep an eye on his brother who sat on a bar stool reading. Jo had gone to school, Ash was… somewhere, Ellen was managing things out back, and John was sitting with the other hunters on the other side of the room.

Dean was wiping down the bar and taking orders. He filled pints and was about to serve them up when Sam's head perked up.

"Ava…" he whispered, eyes glancing over to the door.

"Sammy?" Dean frowned. Sam looked between the door and Dean for a moment, then shook his head. Dean took it as nothing serious to worry about, and went over to give the hunters their drinks.

The group was roaring with laughter as they shared old hunting stories. They took their drinks eagerly.

"Come sit with us, Dean-o," Travis offered. The others nodded in agreement.

"I'm sure you've got some stories, a young buck like you," another said.

Dean shrugged. "I'd love to, guys, but I'm watching Sammy."

"Your kid brother?" one Dean didn't know asked. "He's, what, eighteen? He doesn't need watchin'."

Dean clenched his jaw. "Like I said, I'm watching Sammy."

One of the others frowned, looking over Dean's shoulder. "Not doing a great job of it. The boy's not there."

Dean spun around, a chair scraped behind him, no doubt it was John getting to his feet. Dean looked over to the bar to find Sam's empty seat, his book abandoned on the floor, pages crumpled.

Dean scanned the area quickly, relieved to find Sam not far away. He was standing at the other end of the bar by the door, but he wasn't alone. He was with a girl. She looked the same age; dark-haired, round-cheeked and small enough that Sam had to bend slightly to talk to her. They were close together, staring intently at each other and Sam brushed a hand gently over the side of her head, looking sad. She grabbed his wrist and began to speak to him, mouth moving quickly.

As she spoke, Sam's posture changed from its usual unconfident awkwardness to something taller and stronger. She glanced over to Dean and the other hunters, still talking, and Sam followed her gaze, eyes slipping over them all and back to the girl. He nodded and stepped away from her, towards Dean.

Sam's strides were purposeful and his eyes were hard.

"Sammy?" Dean called gently. Sam reached him, stared for a moment, and then swung his fist into Dean's gut. Dean fell to his knees, gasping for breath as chaos broke out.

The other hunters were on their feet as soon as Sam had hit Dean. Sam wasn't deterred as the first man approached to try to calm him. Sam attacked, blocking every hit his opponent had. Dean pulled himself to his feet and watched.

It was almost beautiful how quick and elegant Sam was. He snaked his body away from any hits, swung his leg around to clock Travis in the face, who went down hard, nose leaking blood. John was trying to get close to Sam, trying to get through to him. Anything John said didn't seem to reach Sam's ears as he turned on his father and began swinging. John blocked each hit, and one of the other hunters grabbed Sam from behind. Sam kicked the hunter's legs out from under him, and even as he went down with him, he managed to twist out of his grip and roll to the side.

Sam looked up from where he was crouched, glaring up at John and the four hunters still standing. John tried to approach his son again, but Sam just lunged at him, managed to swing up to his shoulders and hurl his weight to the ground. John crashed to the floor whereas Sam landed softly on his feet. The other four hunters approached from all angles but Sam easily took two down with a perfect roundhouse kick.

He took out one from behind with kick then he quickly turned to break the other guy's nose. Ellen came out from the office but Dean caught her eye and shook his head, urging her to stay away, she seemed to understand and ducked behind the bar, grabbing the telephone as she did.

Dean got to his feet, still winded. Most of the other hunters were knocked out, save for John who looked in pain and Travis who was spitting a tooth onto the floor.

"Sam," Dean called hesitantly. Sam's gaze flashed over to him, completely blank. "Sammy, what did she do?"

Sam cocked his head to the side; the way a cat did when it regarded a mouse. Dean's heartbeat picked up but he stepped forward anyway, knowing he needed to help his brother.

"Sammy, you in there?"

Sam was fast, his hands flew out and Dean was being hurled to the ground before he knew it. He clambered back to his feet and tried to placate, holding his hands out in front of him.

"I know you, Sam, and this isn't you. I know you wouldn't hurt me, not of your own free will," he breathed. "Look at me, Sam. Look at what you're doing and stop."

Sam didn't hear, or it was more likely that he chose not to listen. He advanced on Dean, swinging his fists. Dean only just managed to block each one. When Sam tried to kick him, Dean grabbed his leg and twisted. Sam cried out in annoyance, nostrils flaring, as his knees hit the floor. He took Dean's legs out from under him with a swift kick. He landed in a heap but managed to get his arms wrapped around Sam's front, holding him in place. Sam bucked and Dean struggled to keep a hold.

Sam's foot came out of nowhere and hit Dean painfully in the face, knocking him off. Sam spun around and pinned him down. Suddenly, Sam's hands were at his throat, pressing methodically.

"Sam!" Dean managed to rasp out before his air was cut off.

"Sam is faceless," Sam said.

Dean's mouth gaped like a fish as he tried to suck in air. The edges of his vision were beginning to blacken.

Dean gasped when Sam's hands slipped away. He choked and panted, managing to pull in air. He looked up to Sam, who had a puzzled look on his face, his fingers fumbled to his neck and he plucked a dart from his skin. The next moment his eyes rolled up and he slumped to the floor, unconcious.

Dean scrambled to his knees, seeing Caleb and Josh by the door. Caleb had a tranquiliser gun in his hand, both he and Josh had matching looks of shock on their face.

The girl was nowhere to be seen.

"Ellen called," Josh said by way of explanation. Dean nodded, turning to find his dad moving painfully over to him. Dean turned to his brother, who was out cold, and gently rolled him onto his back. He checked Sam's breathing and heart rate then sat back. Caleb approached and something jangled by Dean's ear.

He looked at the handcuffs and shook his head. Caleb pushed them into Dean's chest.

"You don't know who he'll be when he wakes up. This is for everyone's safety, including Sam's."

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and took the handcuffs. He leaned over Sam and gently brushed hair from his forehead, for his own comfort more than anything, as he prepared to lock his little brother up.

Josh had been right. Sam was a weapon, and he'd been aimed at Dean when the trigger was pulled.

He remembered what Sam had said, what he would remind Dean every night when woke up crying. _I'm going to kill you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, thank you all so much for 100 kudos!


	14. Altered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2000, Sam is altered. The Winchesters decide on revenge.

_August 3_ _rd_ _2000_

The bar was a mess. The air reeked of blood and sweat, chairs and tables were all over, tipped onto their sides. Dean's hands shook as he cuffed Sam, his little brother was limp, his hands flopping as Dean secured the handcuffs around his wrists.

"What about this lot?" Caleb asked, nodding towards the group of hunters, most of them were still out cold. 

"We'll go on our way," Travis said, his nose had stopped bleeding but his upper lip and chin were a mess of red. He roughly wiped at his mouth, grimacing at the blood that smeared the back of his hand. Looking between his hand and Sam, he said, "I'm sure you can take care of this… but first, tell me what _this_ was."

"Another time," John promised, bending down next to Sam. "But all you need to know is that we'll get the bastards who did this."

Travis hesitated for a moment, then gave a curt nod. "I'll talk to this lot, make sure they don't talk."

"You won't… do anything?" Dean asked.

Travis frowned, giving him a sad smile. "I remember when that kid was a mathlete. One time, you two stayed with me for a couple days and all he did was work on his math problems. The boy I know wouldn't have done this, not of his own free will."

"Thank you," John said sincerely. Just as he spoke, one of the hunters began to rouse. He scooped Sam up into his arms, the boy's head rocked back as John got to his feet. Dean clambered after them, holding the door open to let them into the back. They took Sam to the spare room he shared with Dean, and they laid him down on the bed. John uncuffed Sam's wrists.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, voice rasping.

"We have to lock him down tight. At least until we know what he's like when he wakes up," John explained. He looped the cuffs around one of the wooden bars of the headboard, and secured Sam's hands so they were above his head. The whole time Sam didn't so much as twitch, completely out cold.

"Do you know what Caleb shot him with?" Dean asked, clearing his sore throat. "What if Sam's scared when he wakes up, tied up like that?"

John let out a heavy breath. "Dean, Sam was about to choke the life out of you. Caleb had to stop him, but he would never put Sam in danger. And when Sam wakes up… we'll come to that when we come to that."

"What happened?" Dean asked, eyes on his little brother. Sam looked like he used to be, long before anyone picked at his brain. He looked the way he did when he spent nearly all night studying in bed, only to fall asleep in a pile of books, young and at ease.

"We'll figure it out," John said, not sounding entirely sure.

The two of them jumped when there was a knock at the door and Ellen slipped into the room. She cast a worried glance at Sam but quickly turned her attention away.

"Travis and his guys are gone," she informed them. "I don't think they'll forget about this anytime soon, but Travis says he'll keep 'em in line."

"Thanks, Ellen. For everything," John said, smiling weakly. He took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Caleb says that sedative works up to an hour before he's fully awake," Ellen said. She swallowed. "Do you need anything?"

"We'll let you know," Dean said. Ellen nodded, taking that as her cue to leave, she left the room, gently closing the door behind her.

Dean took a step towards the bed, faltering, then turned away and dropped into the armchair in the corner of the room, rubbing the tender skin on his neck. There were cool fingers, and Dean looked up to his father, not having noticed him move.

"Just bruising," John observed, frowning at the marks on Dean's neck,."If Caleb hadn't got here on time…" he cleared his throat, returning to his place at Sam's side. They sat quietly for a long time, both caught up in their own thoughts. Dean was the one to break the silence.

"Do you think he was trying to kill me?" he asked, voice cracking.

"Dean…" John dropped his gaze, "It wasn't him, not really. He wouldn't do that, not Sam."

"Yeah," Dean agreed shakily. He quickly wiped at his eyes before the tears could fall.

"He said this would happen," Dean went on, after a breath. "He'd been dreaming about it. Every night he woke up crying, saying he was going to kill me. I didn't… I didn't believe him. I thought it was just…"

John nodded his understanding as Dean trailed off. "He was trying to warn us. But, Dean, if that was his vision coming true, then that means the future was changed. He didn't kill you."

A soft groan from the bed caught their attention.

"Sam?" John called gently. "Sam, you back with us?"

Sam's head shifted slightly towards his father, brow furrowing a little. He swallowed hard and gasped. John was quick; bringing a straw to Sam's lips. Sam sucked down the water thirstily, sighing when he was done. He gently peeled his eyes open, glancing around the room, eyes coming to rest on his brother and father.

"Dad?" he croaked. Sam moved his arms, eyes widening when they wouldn't shift. He glanced up at the cuffs around his wrists, and whimpered.

"No no no no no," he muttered, yanking his arms painfully. John put a firm hand on his arm, catching Sam's attention.

"Sam, calm down," he ordered. Sam shook his head violently, eyes still huge, the whites visible.

"Don't lock me away," Sam begged, voice shaking. "Please, I'll be good. Don't cut me open. Don't, please! Dean, Dad."

Dean turned away from the scene to rub at his eyes.

"Sam, we're not going to hurt you," their father spoke softly from behind. "Sam, do you remember what happened?"

Sam sobbed. "Nothing. I didn't do anything," he cried. "I behaved. I sat at the bar, like Dean said, and I kept quiet."

"But what happened after that?" Dean asked, turning back.

"I woke up," Sam said, eyes squeezed closed as he wept.

"He doesn't remember," John said, turning to Dean.

"You sure?" Dean eyed Sam, frowning.

"Dean, he's terrified," John scowled. "I'm letting him out of the cuffs."

John went to get the key from his pocket but Dean rushed forward, placing a hand on his dad's arm to stop him.

"Dean, what - "

"This isn't right," Dean muttered, eyes on his brother.

"Of course this isn't right!" John argued. "He's scared and we tied him up."

"No," Dean said surely. "Look, Dad. Sam's not twitching."

"So?"

"He _always_ gets ticks when he's this worked up, he balls his fists up, curls in on himself. Look at him!"

Sam's hands were relaxed in the restraints, the only thing that shook his body were the sobs. Sam was too collected, leaning back into the pillows as he cried. Gradually, the sobs slowed, then stopped. John and Dean watched Sam's whole face change, relaxing, completely at ease. He sighed, annoyed, and turned to stare at them. His eyes were expressionless. Nothing like the Sam they'd raised who'd always been bright-eyed and sincere, not like the Sam they'd saved who's eyes held suffering and too many memories for someone so young.

"Finished with the crocodile tears?" Dean asked dryly.

Sam's mouth curved very slightly. "There wasn't much point."

"Good performance, though," Dean said.

"Not good enough," Sam added.

John stood quietly, and then rounded to the other side of the bed. Sam's gaze followed him like a cat watching a mouse, amused and dangerous.

"Who are you?" John demanded.

Sam started to laugh, chest heaving, head thrown back. Dean suspected that even if this Sam wasn't as muddled, he was certainly more psychotic.

"Who am I?" Sam parroted, laughter dying down to heavy breaths. "Sam I am."

"You're not Sam," Dean snapped.

"Yes," Sam looked at him, cocking his head to the side. "I am."

"Oh, really?" Dean barked, disbelievingly.

"Really," Sam confirmed. "I'm just… fixed."

"What does that mean?" John frowned.

"They worked so hard to make us perfect," Sam said, looking at the opposite wall. "They wanted to destroy monsters. Well, what better to kill a monster than another monster?"

John and Dean exchanged a glance. Even though Sam wasn't looking, he answered their unspoken question.

"They knew what we were," he went on. "They knew what was in us. They took us; save us or kill us. They wanted to use us for a different purpose. We were meant to destroy humanity. They wanted us to save it."

"They?" Dean asked. "The ones who took you?"

"Yes," Sam smiled a little. "We didn't cooperate at first. It just made it harder for them to fix us."

"Fix you?"

"They can't cure us," Sam said."No one can, but they wanted to save us. I wouldn't listen to them, I wanted to come back to you, and I was selfish. They worked extra hard on me, and sometimes it worked. I'd be perfect again, but it never lasted, I always slipped back to the mess I was before."

He shook his head, amused.

"Madness always won," he said.

Dean folded his arms across his chest, eyeing his brother. "I think it finally has."

"No!" Sam insisted. "This is right. I have to be perfect, how they want me to be, it's what I need to be so I can be saved, so I can save the world. We're doing such good work."

Dean clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. "You're happy about what they did to you?"

"They were saving me."

Dean stepped closer, perching on the bed next to Sam. "No, little brother, they were hurting you. Do you remember sending Jim that message?"

Sam just stared at him.

"You said they were hurting you," Dean reminded him. "They hurt you. You were scared that they'd find you again. You _hated_ what they did to you. Do you remember that?"

Sam's eyes drifted down to Dean's neck. "You should really invest in a scarf, those bruises don't look good," he said flatly.

Dean got his feet and backed away, eyes flicking over to his dad, who patted the pocket where the key was and led Dean out the room. They left the door open by a fraction and stood in the hallway.

"Are you okay?" John asked.

"I'm good," Dean said, straightening himself up.

"They've altered him, mentally," John said quietly.

"You mean like brainwashing?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Oh, it's real. My bet is that the girl triggered him."

"This is fucking crazy," Dean said. "Even for us."

"Think of it like possession," his father offered.

Dean scowled. "What, we gonna exorcize him?" he asked sarcastically.

"Sam said this has happened before, but it never sticks," John reasoned. "Maybe we just wait it out until he comes back to normal."

"Dad, we have no idea how long that could take," Dean argued. "So, we just leave terminator tied to the bed?"

"What do you suggest?" John raised his eyebrow.

With a sigh, Dean ducked his head. "I just want him to be Sam again."

"He won't ever be like he was before they took him."

"No," Dean shook his head. "That Sam never went away. I didn't realise until now, he's been our Sammy the whole time. He changed, but he was always Sammy."

John seemed stricken by Dean's word for a moment, then a grin spread across his face. "Yeah, I think you're right."

* * *

Sam listened to them talking in the hallway. He'd managed to distract them; he'd just kept talking while he carefully, slowly unscrewed a nail from the bed frame. He told them the truth, it didn't matter, and they were irrelevant. Sam had more important things to do. He'd been wasting his time for the past few months; crying and whimpering like a kicked dog. It was a pathetic, embarrassing to be reminded of.

They were making him weak; Dean and John. They were getting in the way; he was supposed to dispose of any obstacles. He'd almost done it, too.

He shifted the nail in his hand, maneuvering it so he could fit it into the lock on the cuffs. If he were to praise his brother and father for anything it was that they'd made sure he could get out of almost any situation.

He stilled when the door opened and John came back in. He locked the door behind him, then took a seat in the armchair. He stared at Sam for a moment, and Sam could swear there were tears hiding behind his eyes.

"Sam, were going to help you," he said. "We'll fix this."

"You mean you want to break me again," Sam corrected.

"No, Sam," John leaned forward, his eyes were sincere. "You didn't break, you refused to give into them. That was a strong thing to do; to remain yourself."

Sam didn't react. He wouldn't give John the satisfaction. John was wrong. He'd been nothing, but now that Ava had helped fix him he was important. He would redeem himself; cleanse the taint in his veins.

He had to find Ava. She would take him back, and then they would make him whole again. They'd done it before… but he'd broken. Over and over again. He couldn't let that happen again.

He had to remember that the needles and the scalpels were part of the process. The slicing, prodding, white hot pain, the grey fog in his head after being in the chair, the shock of volts through his bones...

Sam shivered.

It was unimportant.

The room with no windows, the constant rhythmic ticking, a prick in his arm…

Sam clenched his teeth. "That's not important," he muttered to himself.

"Sam?" John called. Sam didn't look up, just turned his head to the side, pushing the images from his head; they were just distractions.

He wasn't Sammy; he wasn't even Sam, really. He was faceless, just like they meant him to be; he had to shed everything that was unnecessary- fear, happiness, sadness, excitement, even opinions. Everything that had made him Sam only got in the way.

John was watching him closely, Sam could feel it. He could also feel everyone else; Caleb, Joshua, Ellen and Jo, Ash, and Dean. They were all still at the Roadhouse. He could get out of the cuffs, but then he had to get past the others, and Caleb's tranquiliser gun. He'd just have to be… persuasive.

He wiggled the nail in the lock, so slowly that John wouldn't see his hand move, until he hurt a small click. He stayed still, and then looked down.

"Dad," he whispered.

John looked over, getting slowly to his feet.

"What is it, Sam?"

"I'm sorry," he said, forcing a croak. "I can't help it. They make me."

"Sammy?"

Sam nodded. John slowly approached the bed, sitting himself on the edge beside Sam.

He reached out a hand hesitantly.Sam wasted no time and swung his legs up, clamping John's neck between his thighs. He squeezed, watching John's face turn redder. Sam slipped his free hand out of the handcuffs and sat up, the cuffs still dangling from his right wrist. John's eyes fell shut and Sam quickly released him. Suffocation was one of the quieter methods of disabling an opponent.

Sam got to his feet, checking John's pulse. There was an odd sensation in his chest when he found a heartbeat. Sam shook himself; it's a relief because too many unneeded deaths were messy. There was nothing more to it. Sam hadn't noticed he had a palm rested on John's cheek; he pulled away quickly, reaching down to pull the knife from John's belt.

He stepped over to the door and quietly unlocked it. He paused in the empty hallway; the sound of squeaky wheels echoed in his ears, the clang of metal instruments on a metal tray...

"It's unimportant," he reminded himself, clearing his head with a shake. "You're faceless, and nothing scares you."

He inched along the wall, stopping when he heard voices coming from up ahead, behind the door which led to the bar. One of the doors opposite was slightly ajar, a soft hum of music drifting through. Sam crept forward; Jo was facing away, sitting at the desk in her room as she did her homework.

Sam stepped over, quietly, twirling the knife in his hand. He had his hand over her mouth and the knife at her neck before she had time to react. Jo froze, eyes wide as she stared at Sam peeking over her shoulder.

"We're going for a walk," he whispered in her ear. "Get up."

Jo did as she was told, allowing Sam to guide her out into the hallway. Caleb was the first to notice them when they stepped into the bar, and he jumped to his feet, the bar stool clattering to the floor.

"Sam," Dean called, a soft warning. "Let her go."

Sam just edged towards the exit, shielding himself with Jo's body.

"Sam, please," Ellen implored, keeping her voice as level as she could.

"I'm leaving," Sam said. "If anyone takes a step closer, I'll cut her throat."

"You don't mean that," Dean said, desperate. "Remember how excited you were to play pool with Jo yesterday? Sam, don't let them control you."

Sam backed away, dragging Jo along with him. He kept the knife at her throat as he opened the door and pulled Jo out with him.

Dean had looked so upset. Sam growled to himself; that didn't matter. Dean was unimportant.

But he liked playing pool. Sam liked games because he always won.

Games weren't important. What Sam liked wasn't important.

He removed the knife from Jo's neck and pushed her away. He'd expected her to run, but she just stood there, staring at him, one hand rubbing where the knife had been pressed. She looked sad, but not for herself. She was staring at Sam, pity-eyed.

"You remember playing pool, don't you?" she asked.

Sam remembered. He'd won every shot; no one else got a turn. Dean had grouched and Jo had laughed at the look on Dean's face. He'd laughed along with them.

Sam wanted to cry.

He backed away from her, bumping into the Impala. He caught himself on the hood, seeing the army man jammed in the ashtray in the back. Sam had done that when he'd had tiny fingers.

He had to find Ava. Ava would fix this. Ava would stop him from breaking again.

He pushed away from the car and ran onto the empty road, dashing in any direction. Where was he supposed to go?

Ava. Ava. Ava.

He could hear shouting from behind, and he was sure that if he turned around he'd see Dean dashing after him.

Leather straps around his wrists and ankles, tied down, alone, he had never known how long for; there had been no clock and no window. Just a white room, and nothing to listen to but his own heartbeat, or the ticking.  _Tick, tick, tick._

He ran faster, trying to escape the sound of a razor whirring, the feeling of his hair falling from his scalp, feeling himself drift away when the mask went over his face.

They were fixing him...

No.

They were _hurting_ him.

Sam gasped, coming to a stop, one hand clutched at his shirt, shaking all over.

They'd hurt him.

And he'd hurt John and Jo. He'd hurt Dean. He was a monster.

Sam dropped to his knees, ignoring the jolt of pain it sent through his bones.

"Sam!" Dean was close, boots pounding the asphalt. "Sammy!"

He hurried to Sam's side, dropping to his knees in front of him. Dean's hands reached out, ghosting over Sam, hesitant to touch.

"Is that you, Sammy?" Dean asked softly.

Sam twitched when his head filled with the sound of people mumbling behind masks, and he bent forward, hands clamping over his ears.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the words were falling from his mouth to the rhythm of his own pounding heart.

Dean gently lifted Sam's face in his hands, looking into his eyes for a long time. Sam tried to stay still for him, tried to stop the tears from falling. It didn't work.

After a moment, a soft smile spread across Dean's face. "I see you," he said. "I see you, Sammy."

Sam sobbed, a heavy, body-wracking sob, as Dean pulled him into his arms, rubbing his back.

"I know you're sorry," he whispered. "It wasn't your fault, it's okay."

Sam shook his head frantically, biting his lip until it bled. He clutched at Dean, as if letting go would mean Sam would slip away, like Dean was the only one to make sure that Sam didn't belong to the people who'd stolen him.

"Dean?" that was their dad, raspy-voice, alive. Sam cried harder.

"I've got him," Dean answered, holding Sam tighter, hushing him gently.

"I hurt you," Sam croaked. Dean shook his head.

"You didn't kill me," Dean said. "Your dream didn't come true."

"That wasn't it," Sam gulped, tasting salt on his lips. "My dream was different. Bloodier, you were begging me… It's still there, waiting in line."

"Well, I'm not dying," Dean promised.

"Maybe you should make it easier," Sam sniffed. "Put a bullet in my brain pan. Squish."

He laughed a little, imagining the inside of his head making a mess up the wall. Dean didn't seem to agree, and he forced Sam to look him in the face.

"I'm not dying, you're not dying," he barked. "No one is dying. Period."

Sam shrank down a little, and Dean to scooped him back into his arms again.

"How did you find your way back?" he asked.

"I was still here," Sam said, silent tears streaking his face. "I was just… faceless. I took the mask off; it was hard to see under there."

Dean huffed a laugh. "I missed your nonsense," he said, brushing a gentle hand over Sam's hair. "Do you want to go back inside?"

Sam's shoulders dropped. "No one will want me. They all hate me."

"That's not true. Look." He pointed over Sam's shoulder. Everyone was there, standing a small distance away, looking both worried and relieved. John caught Sam's eye and hurried over, and Sam let himself be enveloped in John's arms. He tucked his face into his neck, remembering the days when they would barely even speak and when they did, they yelled.

Both of them had learned the hard way to truly appreciate one another. John stood up, hooking one arm under Sam's legs, the other supporting his back. Sam didn't say a word. He was sure his legs would be jelly if he'd tried to stand. He felt the jolt of each step, clinging tight, his arms around the same neck he'd tried to squeeze the life out of, earlier.

"In the brain pan," Sam reminded himself. "Salt and burn my bones."

Someone softly shushed him. Dean was still there, one hand was resting on Sam's shoulder.

"We need to break the hold they have over him," John said to Dean. Sam could feel his dad's voice rumble in his chest. "We need to go after them."

Dean agreed, "We need to take them out."


	15. Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 2000, Ash catches a trail. August 2000, Sam plans to catch a little birdy.

_April 29_ _th_ _2000_

Months and months of nothing. Endless trails of cold, hard nothing.

They'd looked, God, they'd followed any whisper that could have remotely been connected to Sam. They'd left no stone unturned, but nothing. Dean just wanted his brother back. Sometimes he'd wake in the middle of the night for no reason and he'd turn on the bed, expecting to find Sam sleeping beside him. It was only ever for a split second, but it was enough to carve a hole in his heart each time he remembered that Sam had been gone for a long time.

He was smoking like a chimney these days, even more than John who only lit up in the most stressful of times. Dean thought every moment was stressful. They'd looked. And they'd hunted. Dean lost count of how many monsters he'd put down, how many bones he'd burned. It was automatic, he didn't know what else to do with himself other than hunt.

They'd been packing up, making a run for it after a messy job, when they'd gotten a phone call from the Roadhouse. It had been so long that Dean had suspected it would just be Ellen pestering them about not keeping in contact, he hadn't expected Ash on the other line.

 _"Dean?"_ he sounded urgent, his voice was almost muffled like he was holding the receiver close to his mouth.

Dean sat up instantly. "Ash?" he answered, hopeful. "Please tell me…"

 _"I think I have something,"_ Ash interrupted him hurriedly, _"about your brother."_

"Are you serious?" Dean could feel his heart thumping hard, almost vibrating his rib cage. "What is it?"

 _"I can't tell you over the line,"_ Ash told him. Dean could picture him hunkered over by the Roadhouse phone, eyes shifting suspiciously. _"I don't know who could be listening."_

"Ash, please you have to tell me something!" Dean begged, sounding angrier than he'd meant to.

 _"All I can say is that I think I picked up a trail,"_ Ash whispered. " _Get to the Roadhouse, like, now."_

"We're coming," Dean promised, and hung up. He hurried to finish his packing. John was standing close, eyes wide and desperate. Dean gave him a look which must have said a thousand words because John's eyes watered a little.

"Ash thinks he's got a trail on Sam," Dean said, finding it hard not to smile a little, for the first time in a long time.

"Did he say what?" John pressed.

"He just said to get down to the Roadhouse right away, and that he couldn't tell us over the phone."

The drive was impossibly fast and they made it there in three hours. There was nothing said between them. Only heavy anticipation filled the Impala, and words were hesitant to be made for the fear their hopes might be shattered.

The Impala swerved off the road, both doors open before the key had been taken from the ignition. Dean was already dashing to the bar, not waiting for John to finish locking the car. He burst into the Roadhouse, almost crashing into a hunter as he did.

"Watch it!" the man shouted, an older hunter; hard lines and tired eyes. He seemed to recognise Dean, his eyes lighting up a bit. "Aren't you John Winchester's boy?"

Dean didn't have time, he ignored the looks cast his way at the mention of his father's name, and he barged past. Ellen appeared from the back of the bar with a bag of pretzels in hand. She almost dropped the bag at the sight of him.

"Where's Ash?" Dean demanded. At that, Ellen smiled and pointed to the door marked 'Dr Badass'. He pushed on by with a curt nod.

Dean didn't knock on Ash's door. It was a dark room and empty bottles nudged at his boots. Ash was sitting on a couch-bed with his laptop on his knees. He looked up and gave Dean a serious look, placing the computer on the couch as he got to his feet.

"Dean," he greeted.

"Ash, tell me what you've found, so help me God…"

"Woah!" Ash raised his hands in surrender as Dean advanced on him. "I'm gonna, okay?"

"Ash, is he at least alive?"

Ash swallowed. "I don't know for sure."

Dean sputtered, fingers raking through his hair. "Christ! Ash, just spit it out."

The door swung open and John strode in, looking far more threatening than Dean, which sent Ash into a hurry to collect his computer and various papers around the room. He gestured them to sit down, and spread the information out in front of him.

"I've been tracking various things since you asked me to; the FBI's work on the case - let me tell you that those dudes don't have a clue - "

"Ash…" John warned.

"Right," Ash cleared his throat, nodded. "Okay. So I've been hacking into any police records, medical records, just in case anything came up - it didn't. So, I began researching any strange shipments or orders around the country, you know, anything that seems out of place- but, believe me, tracking the post of America is freaking hard. Anyway, I found that there have been orders made of medical supplies since a few months before your boy was taken. You might wonder why that's weird, well, here's the thing; these supplies are not being delivered to any hospital, they go to an empty warehouse in New York state, middle of nowhere."

"What does this have to do with Sam?" Dean asked hesitantly.

"Doesn't it seem odd to you? These medical supplies are delivered to the middle of nowhere, and your boy is taken only a few months later. What if they were ordering in advance before they got their patients?"

Dean was unsure how Ash had put this together, but then again Ash was supposedly a genius.

"Also," Ash went on, noticing that Dean wasn't convinced, "there are bank accounts which fund these orders. All of them are very full and very fake."

"Okay, that's weird," Dean admitted, he frowned. "Why would they want medical supplies?"

"I don't know, bro," Ash gave him a sympathetic look.

"Where in New York?" John asked after a moment's awkward silence

"In the middle of nowhere, New York state," Ash said and he went about showing them the location on a map. The three of them stared at the red cross Ash had made on the paper and Dean couldn't help but imagine his little brother like he'd last seen him; small, floppy-haired and sad. He had too much hope for this. If this was nothing, it would destroy him.

"We'll check it out," John decided. "We'll turn the place upside down. Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Call Bobby, Caleb and Josh. We'll need backup."

* * *

_August 4_ _th_ _2000_

Sam curled up. He wanted to curl so far into himself that he simply ceased to exist. No matter how hard he pressed his hands over his ears he couldn't drive out the noise. It was in his head; swirling around and around. Too fast. Too much. He could feel Faceless shuffling around by the bed. He was furious with Sam, shouting at him, as much as Faceless can shout with no mouth. Sam was terrified and he wanted it to stop. Just a bullet in his brain pan. That was all it would take.

His dad had scooped him up and carried him back to the Harvelle's, and Sam had clung to John's neck as if letting go would mean falling a thousand feet. Dean kept hushing him but Sam hadn't thought he'd been saying anything.

He didn't remember much after that, just _too much_ noise, warm hands rubbing his back, cold hands tickling his feet until he cried.

_You're weak, Sam, this is why they cracked your melon._

_Sammy? Please talk to me._

_Is he okay?_

_Sam, Sam, Sam-I-am. They'll find you. They always find you. I always come back._

_Sammy, please…_

_Just look at me, little brother._

_John, Bobby just got here._

_They'll strap you down and scoop out your insides, and then they'll make you paint with it, make you see how burnt you are inside._

Sam pressed his hands over his ears, hard, but the noise wouldn't go away.

He screamed.

* * *

Dean had never heard such a noise come from his little brother, or anyone, in fact. He'd never heard so much anguish. Sam had been shivering on the bed, crying to himself, asking for it to stop. Dean didn't know what to do. He'd rubbed Sam's back, tried to say something soothing but all that came out were a bunch of meaningless words. Sam was twitching like crazy, like he was being struck and whipped, over and over.

Then Sam had frozen, and for a split second Dean had believed Sam was calming down, but Sam just opened his mouth and screamed; loud, long and terrible.

"Sam!" Dean shouted over the noise. Sam had moved his hands, arms crossed, nails drawing painful red marks over his own shoulders. "Sam, stop!"

Sam still screamed, still tried to claw at himself. Dean grabbed his brother's wrists, prying them away from his body. John appeared at the other side of the bed, helping to pin him down.

"Sam, Sammy," Dean whispered gently, clamping a hand over Sam's mouth. Sam shrieked at the back of his throat, eyes streaming. "Sammy, look at me," Dean ordered.

Sam's breathing was fast and heavy, huffing through his nostrils too quickly. The screaming was muffled and slowing into sobs under Dean's hand. 

"That's good, Sammy," Dean said. "If I take my hand away, you won't scream again, will you?"

Sam didn't so much as move to answer, lying stiff and dull-eyed, so Dean carefully removed his hand. Sam took in a gulp of air, then he screamed again. Dean clamped his hand over Sam's mouth quickly.

"Okay, we'll just stay like this. Okay?" Dean said softly once Sam had quietened. "Just me, you, and dad."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, more tears slipped free.

"Just the three of us," Dean went on, "No one else."

"Sammy, you're okay," John said softly. His grip remained firm. "You're okay."

Sam shook his head frantically under Dean's hand.

"You're good, Sam," Dean reassured him. "We're all okay. You didn't hurt anyone."

Sam's sob was muffled.

"We want to let you go, okay? Promise you'll be quiet and still."

Sam took a deep breath through his nose, then nodded. John and Dean slowly removed their hands, still lingering closely. Sam didn't make a sound, most likely he'd screamed himself hoarse. He turned on his side and curled back up again.

"Sam, it's okay," Dean said. It was a comfort rather than a truth.

"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sam couldn't seem to stop the words spilling out, over and over until they blended together.

"Shhh," John hushed him and rubbed softly at his shoulder.

"I should've known they'd taken Ava for good," Sam whispered. "I should have known she was faceless."

"Ava? Is that the girl who came in here before?" Dean asked. Sam gulped and nodded.

"She used to be so small and scared, little bird," Sam told them. "She'd cry for her mom and I'd promise we'd be saved, but we left her. We left all of them."

"Sam, we didn't have time," John reminded him gently. "When Josh and Caleb went back, they'd moved and taken everything with them."

"I don't know how many are left," Sam said quietly, eyes wet and bleary. "Ava was so small and scared, now she's strong and scary. I didn't see it though, I was just happy to see her."

Dean took a deep breath.

"Sam, we'll fix this," Dean promised. "We'll try to save Ava and the others."

Sam turned his head into the pillow. He didn't say another word. He just cried, curled up tightly. He was like that for hours, sometimes mumbling to himself, his face hidden beneath his hands. At some point he'd drifted off, exhausted, breaths evening out. John covered him with a spare blanket and Sam's face twitched a little in sleep as he did. He did not wake.

John jerked his head towards the door, indicating Dean to follow. Dean was hesitant to leave Sam, but he couldn't deny he needed some air. And a stiff drink. They went out to the bar where everyone was sitting around a table. The group looked up. They all bore the same expression, pity and worry, but no one said a word, they just waited for John or Dean to speak first.

John cleared his throat. "Could someone go keep an eye on him? We need a little air," he asked. Caleb got to his feet before anyone else.

"He's asleep," John added, Caleb gave a small nod, clapped Dean's shoulder reassuringly and headed down the hallway, slipping quietly into Ellen's spare room.

John sighed, shoulders dropping as he sat down. Ellen was quick to hand him a glass of whiskey. John downed it, grimacing. Dean grabbed a chair from another table and pulled it over to join the others.

"He'll be okay," Ellen broke the silence. "In time."

Dean reached for the whiskey bottle. He shook his head. He really wasn't so sure about that. How could Sam ever be  _okay_ _?i_

"So, are you going after these people?" Jo asked quietly, looking a little shell-shocked. There was still a red mark on her neck where Sam had pressed the knife to her throat; thankfully the skin was unbroken.

"I'm going to destroy every person who had a part in this," Dean swore, taking a gulp of the alcohol. "I don't care if they were just the fucking _janitor_ at this place. I will rip them apart."

"What about these other kids?" Ellen asked.

"They didn't ask for this, but if they're too far gone..." John broke off and scrubbed his hand over his face, "I don't know."

"You don't have to do this alone," Ellen promised. "Ash is already trying to find their new location."

"That took months the last time," Dean pointed out. "They could take Sam from us again before we even found them."

"What else do you suggest?" Ellen asked, eyebrow raised. Dean bit his lip and let out a long breath, shaking his head in defeat.

"It's late," Ellen went on, patting Jo on the shoulder. "Some of us should be going to bed."

"You mean me," Jo bit back, folding her arms over her chest. "I'm not going to school tomorrow."

"No, you're not," Ellen agreed. "But you're not a part of this, Joanna Beth. I won't let you be."

Jo scowled, but did as she was told and got to her feet, muttering, "Sam's my friend too," as she stalked off to her room. A few minutes after Jo's door had closed and the spare room's opened. Sam came hurrying out, Caleb at his heels. When Sam spotted Dean, he dropped to his knees at his brother's feet.

"Dean, you _have_ to," Sam urged. "He keeps taunting me, but he's right. He'll come back. He always comes back."

Dean tried to pull Sam up to his feet, but he wasn't budging so Dean got to his knees.

"He just woke up, then looked real scared of something," Caleb tried to explain, looking a little stressed with the situation. "Says there's something urgent that has to happen."

"Yes!" Sam agreed enthusiastically. "Bullet in the brain pan, crack my skull and make me bleed. Squish."

"Woah, woah!" Dean hauled Sam to his feet and steered him away from the watchful eyes of the group, John followed them over to a dim booth in the corner where Dean sat Sam down.

"Sam, no one's killing you."

Sam was rocking a little, eyes flicking about, "Salt and burn my bones," he whispered. Dean rubbed at Sam's arm, trying to bring him back to the present, realising that whatever that Ava girl had done had set back Sam's improvement. Sam had been doing better since the hospital in Sioux Falls, now he seemed as bad as when they'd rescued him.

"Sam, look at me," John ordered, Sam looked up, still a little twitchy but at least paying attention, "No one's going to hurt you, you hear me?"

Sam nodded, looking over to the others. "You should. The clock's still ticking. Dean's going to leak," Sam let out a nervous laugh,. "The clock's still ticking, you need to stop the clock."

"We will, Sam," Dean promised. "We're going to hunt down the people who did this to you and you won't be forced to do anything again."

Sam shook his head frantically. "No, no, no, that's not how it goes."

"Well, we still have to stop them," John said. "We need to help the others."

"Little bird flew away… or they crushed her tiny bones. All that's left of her is _them_."

Sam jerked a little when Dean tried to reach out. His eyes cleared and he looked around.

"Make it stop," he pleaded. "It's too much in my head."

His hands were shaking a little but he seemed to be back with them somewhat. Dean placed his own hand over Sam's to keep them still.

"Come sit with everyone. When was the last time you had something to eat or drink?" Dean asked.

"I'm on it," Ellen called, already disappearing into the kitchen. Dean smiled a little, appreciative.

Dean took Sam's shoulder and guided him over to the table where Bobby, Josh and Caleb were sitting; Ash was working in his room. Sam chose a seat next to Bobby and immediately began to ask about Rumsfeld. Bobby smiled fondly, happily obliging. Dean and John gathered at the other end of the table.

"When we do this, we do it different to last time," John said, quietly, probably trying to ensure Sam wouldn't overhear too much. "We take as many with us as we can."

"Numbers won't make a difference," Sam interrupted, startling the others. He was glancing at them over his shoulder, hair hanging over his face. In the bar's dim light Dean could see the dark circles under Sam's eyes, the way his features were sharper, thinner, older.

"They're just people, Sam," Dean said.

Sam shook his head. "Not _them_. Ava and the others can kill you, and they'll make sure you're the one who put the bullet in your head. Or they might just touch you, lilies are poisonous, did you know?"

"You mean the other kids?"

Sam looked up and smiled. "You're not immune, but I am."

"What?"

"We can't use our abilities on each other," he said, leaning forward, cocking his head to the side. "They can't hurt me with their brains."

"But the others, _them_ , they can control you, Sam."

"But they can't control any of _you._ Do you see the puzzle fitting together?"

Dean frowned, then realisation dawned on him. "No way! I'm not letting you go back to that place."

"It's just as deep and dark for me as it is for you," Sam sing-songed quietly, tracing his finger over the cracks on the wooden table. Ellen emerged with a sandwich and a glass of water which Sam fiddled with as he ate, tearing off the crusts and dangling them into his mouth.

"You really want to go back?" Dean asked quietly, feeling a clench in the pit of his stomach. This was the last thing he wanted, but, despite Sam's riddles, he could understand his little brother's reason. They couldn't do it without Sam, and Sam couldn't do it without them.

Sam put down his food and frowned, thinking. "I never want to go back, but if you go without me you'll all die."

"And if you go we might lose you again."

Sam held back a laugh. "I get lost, you get lost… how can we when we don't know where to go in the first place?"

"Ash is working on it," John said, sighing.

Sam grinned. "Or they'll show us. Ava's still around, she's waiting for me."

"How do you know?"

"I know how they work," Sam shrugged. "The only way back in is if they let me. I wait for Ava to come and get me, and we'll catch ourselves a little birdy."


	16. Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 2000, Sam is saved. August 2000, Ava finds Sam.

_June 1_ _st_ _2000_

White walls, white floor, a mattress, and a locked door; this is what Sam Winchester's life is made of. Nothing else, not even a bed frame. He'd lost that privilege. 

Sam laughed. The sound echoed off the walls and back to him, the room was laughing with him. Or it was laughing at him, Sam couldn't be sure. He thought it was funny that something as simple as a bed frame was a privilege. The doctors hadn't liked what he'd used it for.

He sat on the floor, back straight up against the wall, both legs stretched out in front of him. The cool tiled ground kissed his heels when he'd rested them down, it reminded him of how the room had kept him for so long; mimicking him when he whispered to himself, tickling his feet with the cold every time he took a step.

Then there was Faceless. He was Sam's only friend. Sam could still remember how they'd met. First, Faceless would linger in the corner of Sam's eye, never quite within reach. Or he'd see him sitting in the corner after lights out. Sam could never really seem him at first. One day Sam had woken up and there he was, standing at the foot of his bed, staring down at him with familiar eyes Sam could never focus on for too long. He wore the same scrubs and mask as the doctors and nurses, but unlike them, he never spoke, only whispered in Sam's ear.

Sam had wanted to keep him a secret. Faceless was all he had, and Faceless was the only one to talk to him after they'd separated from the other children for good. If they had found out then they'd have taken Faceless away. Of course, the doctors found out. They were always picking at things, hacking them up just to see what they were made of. They didn't like Faceless. They tried to hack him out of Sam's brain.

"It didn't work," Sam taunted aloud. There was no one there to hear but himself, the room, and Faceless. The walls whispered his words back and Faceless snickered silently beneath his mask. Sam grinned and the two of them laughed together.

"Chop, chop, chop," Sam said, tapping his feet together with each _chop._  "My hair, my scalp, my skull…" he stifled another bubble of laughter, "My brain."

Faceless nodded his agreement. Sam brought his legs up to his chest, resting his cheek on his knees as he fiddled with the plastic bracelet on his wrist.

"I know they're not coming," Sam said, sighing tiredly. "I know it's been nearly a lifetime. They've probably forgotten me by now, or died… maybe they got chewed up by a monster, their insides trailed out like this…"

He sketched the scene on the floor beneath him with his fingers. A tear slipped down his cheek and he quickly wiped it away, clearing his throat.

"I know they've probably forgotten," he said, more clearly, "but I wonder what they're doing right now. My Dad and my Dean. I need them."

He pressed his forehead hard against his knees, trying to push the thoughts out. Faceless cocked his head to the side and crawled over, moving in a way that Sam wouldn't admit frightened him; creeping like something that lived in the dark. He clumsily patted Sam's knee in an attempt to comfort, long cold fingers that felt like nothing. He scared Sam sometimes, but Sam didn't have anyone else.

There was a harsh buzz coming from the door, then it clicked, and a nurse stepped in. Sam could tell she smiled at him because her eyes crinkled and her lips shifted the mask slightly. She made sure to close the door behind herself as she stepped further into the room. Her eyes flicked to security camera for a second then she looked back to Sam.

"Good morning, Sam," she greeted, all fake cheer. She crouched down, setting a tray on the floor.

Sam eyed it. There was a plastic cup of water, a bowl of sliced fruit and two slices of buttered toast which Sam suspected were already soggy. There was another plastic cup, smaller, filled with various colourful pills. Sam hated pills.

"Are you going to behave today?" she asked.

Sam grimaced at her condescending tone.

The nurse sighed. "Honey, we want to give you privileges, we do, but you have to earn them. Violent behaviour is just not acceptable."

"Yes, Miss," Sam answered quietly, too hungry to argue. The nurse looked pleased, mask crinkling over her mouth, and she pushed the tray towards him.

"Remember to take your medicine after you've eaten," she said, getting to her feet. She stood with her arms crossed as she stared down at him. Sam stared, too. A staring contest. She blinked.

"Ha!" Sam cried triumphantly. "I win!"

The nurse shifted uncomfortably and nodded to the tray of food, eyes hard. Sam picked up a piece of toast and tore at it, still watching the nurse. He sucked on an orange segment, draining it before he slapped the empty skin back into the bowl. He resisted the urge to throw it at her; he knew by then that the nurses didn't find it nearly as funny as he did.

He folded the second slice of toast in half; the same way his brother Dean used to fold pizza slices. Sam used to think it was disgusting, now he thought it was beautiful. He bit a large chunk out of the bread, filling his mouth enough to puff up his cheeks.

The nurse raised an eyebrow at him. Sam grinned at her, showing her the soggy, chewed up bread between his teeth. She scowled and looked away. It took Sam a while to chew the toast enough to swallow and he wondered how Dean had managed it with pizza. He finished the fruit when the toast was gone, nibbling at a slice of apple, never taking his eyes off the nurse.

He sat back when he was done and the nurse put her hands on her hips. She didn't look happy. Faceless' shoulders bounced with amusement.

"Sam, remember you need to take your pills," she said with forced calm.

"Why? Am I sick?" Sam asked, blinking innocently. He said this every day, and every day whoever was the one to bring the tray would get a little flustered and uncomfortable. It made Sam laugh.

The nurse took a breath. "Yes, sweetie, you are ill," she said with a kindness which brought Sam's laughter to a halt. "You're not right in the head. But don't worry. We'll get you better so you can re-join the others. They're all a little ahead of you but we're sure we can catch you up when you get well again."

"What if I don't get well?" Sam asked seriously.

"That's for the doctor to decide," She told him. "Now take your pills, Sam."

Sam tipped the cup of pills on to the floor, then arranged them by size, then by colour. He laid them out neatly in a line, taking each pill from the end until they were all gone. He washed them down with the water.

"Good boy," the nurse praised, picking up the tray. She walked over to the door and signalled something at the security camera. "You have treatment this afternoon, and a private session with the psychiatrist, okay?"

Sam wasn't sure why she was asking, it wasn't like he had a choice. "Okay," he answered anyway.

She smiled under the mask again. The door buzzed, and she let herself out, leaving him alone. Sam almost wished she would stay.

Time didn't exist in the room; one minute could feel the same as one day. He only knew his age because it was written on his file. Sam spent his morning making music in his head to dance to, spinning around until he was too dizzy and fell onto his mattress. He watched the ceiling tilt and swirl until his eyes could focus again. He talked to Faceless, and the room, and himself. He stared at the security camera, waiting for it to blink, it never did and Sam lost the game. He counted his fingers and toes, the stitches on his shirt sleeve, the tiles on the floor. If they'd let him keep the string from his pants then he might have made a game with that too, but the doctors didn't trust him with a string and Sam wasn't sure why.

The orderlies came in after an measurable amount of time. Time for treatment, it must have been the afternoon. Sam wondered if it was a sunny day or not. He missed real light, and rain and wind. He missed a lot of things. He missed Dad. He missed Dean.

"Quiet, Sam," one of the orderlies said, taking him by the arm. Sam didn't know he'd said anything. The other orderly took his other arm and they both pulled him to his feet and over to the door. They waited for it to buzz before they opened it.

"Do you keep bees in the hinges?" Sam asked. The orderlies rolled their eyes at each other. Sam didn't mind, if they didn't want to laugh at his joke then he'd do it for them. They shook him gently to stop. Sam bit his lip to keep the laughter in.

"This one's nuts, huh?" one orderly murmured to the other.

"The doctor prefers _mentally ill_ ," the other said, rolling his eyes again. "They should have put him down with the other defects, but no, they like this one."

Sam didn't like their conversation so he stopped listening. They were taking him down the hall to the treatment room. More people in scrubs walked by, looking busy. Sam noticed two scrub-wearers who were standing by the wall, staring at him. They looked familiar, enough so that his eyes watered, straining to get a better look. The taller one was dark-eyed and his equally dark hair curled a little like Sam's had done when it was long. The shorter one had green eyes, Dean's eyes, but Sam knew it couldn't be Dean because Dean was taller than him. This scrub-wearer was a little shorter.

Sam was yanked around the corner and he tried to twist around to see green-eyes again, but they weren't there. The closer he came to the treatment room, the harder he dug his heels in, and even though Sam didn't want to go he knew it was better than the alternative.

"Samuel," the doctor beamed when Sam was brought in. He rolled up the sleeves on his white coat and gestured to the chair in the centre of the room. It was like a dentist's chair, only Sam was sure dentists didn't strap their patients down. The sight of the leather restraints sent a shock of energy through Sam and he struggled harder, even managing to kick one of the orderlies in the face.

"You little bastard," the orderly growled, cupping his cheek. Sam laughed at him and spat at his feet. He yelped when more hands grabbed him and forced him into the chair, strapping him in.

"Now, now," the doctor warned the orderly. "You can leave."

The orderly looked like he wanted to argue, but he turned and left without another word.

"Chicken!" Sam screamed after him. _"Cluck, cluck, cluck!"_

"Enough, Sam," the doctor ordered, and bent over to pry open his lids. He inspected Sam's eyes with a tiny bright light.

"Looks good," he told a nurse. He checked Sam over, murmuring more things to the nurse.

"We have some observers today," the doctor said when he turned back to Sam. "They're new staff members who are going to sit in for your treatment today. They've observed everyone else, so don't feel like we're singling you out."

Sam looked over to the other side of the room where a group of scrub-wearers were sitting with notepads and pens. He scanned them, finding dark-eyes and green-eyes sitting at the back.

"Are you gonna watch me t-t-twitch?" Sam asked, emphasising each _t_ and jolting himself a little in the chair. One of the female scrub-wearers flinched a little and Sam laughed.

"Be nice, Sam," the doctor scolded. Sam sighed and tried to relax back in the chair, ready to get treatment done with. One of the nurses brought out the electrodes and Sam found himself squirming.

"N-no, I don't need it," Sam insisted. "I'm good, I promise."

They didn't listen to him. No one never listened to him. The electrodes were secured, and something was injected into one of his arms, he instantly felt his muscles begin to relax and numb. He hated it. They'd put him to sleep and when he woke up he didn't remember going to treatment in the first place, he didn't remember a few things afterwards like what he had for breakfast or whether he counted the tiles on the floor that day. He hated it because no one ever asked him if he wanted it. He hated it because he didn't like having holes in his memory. He hated it because he didn't like people touching his head.

He woke up, blinking lazily, fingers still twitching a little. He could hear voices, sound was coming back to him.

"We've been trying the therapy for a few weeks now. With each session, he has become far less violent," the doctor was explaining. Sam felt his wrists and ankles being released but he didn't have the energy to move them quite yet.

"He'll go back to his room now to rest," the doctor went on. "The health and well-being of the children is one of our top priorities."

Sam couldn't help but let out a tired laugh. Without another word he was lifted to his feet and pulled from the chair. He tried to keep up with the orderlies but he couldn't stop his feet from dragging a little.

"Sammy," one orderly whispered. Sam frowned; they called him _Sam_ or _Samuel_ here. Sometimes he was _Sweetie_ or _Honey_ , depending on which nurse he had. He was never Sammy.

"Sammy," the orderly said again. "We're busting you out of here, kiddo."

Sam rolled his head to the side, coming face to face with green-eyes. He could see freckles peppering his skin where the mask didn't cover it.

"Just like Dean," Sam said, managing to get his tongue to work.

"No, Sammy," green-eyes insisted. "It is Dean. I'm here."

Sam shook his head. "No, Dean is taller than me."

There was no answer, they hurried down the hall. Sam was confused when they took him past his room.

"Where are we going?" he asked, mouth still numb.

"Home, buddy," green-eyes told him. Sam frowned; he didn't have a home anymore. Dark-eyes was wrenching a big metal door open, then he turned to help carry Sam up some stairs. Sam didn't remember there being any stairs, he didn't remember there ever being an exit. There was no way out.

They hauled him up and Sam managed to get his footing. Then, Sam saw light. Not the white artificial lights in the facility, but real sunlight. He squeezed his eyes shut and shrank away from it. The orderlies held him steady.

"Do you think he's been outside at all these past two years?" Green-eyes asked. Dark-eyes didn't answer, he just looked worried, forehead all crinkled. Sam tried to keep his eyes away from the sun because it hurt. He took a breath, realising how cool and fresh it felt in his lungs. He took a few more greedy breaths as he was pulled along. There was a new ground beneath his feet, no cold tiles, but soft dirt which got stuck between his toes.

Doors creaked open to the back of a van, they pulled him inside. Sam still didn't know where he was going.

"Sammy."

He turned around to come face to face with his brother; dressed in green scrubs and the mask hung around his neck. Dean pulled him into his arms and squeezed tightly. Sam held on and fingered the short tufts of hair on the back of Dean's head.

When they were done, Dean stared at him like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Sam frowned at the sight of tears running down Dean's cheeks. Someone folded their arms around him from behind and Sam looked up to see his father. Sam's eyes stung.

"Oh, God," Dean whispered, cupping Sam's cheek. "I thought I'd never see you again. I've missed you so much."

John was still holding Sam, both of them jostled as the van moved. Sam saw Caleb sitting in the corner, watching with a smile on his face. The cap visible in the driver's seat must have been Bobby.

"You didn't forget," Sam laughed. "He told me you'd forget but he was wrong."

"Who told you that?" John asked.

"He doesn't speak, just whispers in my ear," Sam explained. "We left him behind. He can't crawl and whisper if I'm not there."

Dean glanced at their dad. "Sam, what are you talking about?"

"I'll miss the walls," Sam said. "They whispered back to me, held me inside, but I won't miss _him_ , not like I thought I would."

Everyone looked a little lost. He figured he'd have to explain.

"They took lambs from their mothers," he said slowly, so they might understand. "And they looked to see which ones could be wolves. The sheep were killed and the wolves were trained. Fetch, boy. Roll over. Sit."

He howled to emphasise his point. Dean looked like he was on the verge of tears again and John held him tighter, running a hand through his hair. Sam didn't like his head being touched. He didn't want it cracked again. He scrambled out of his father's arms and screamed.

"No!" Sam said it over and over, pressing himself into a corner. He willed them to understand.

"Dad," Dean asked fearfully. "What did they do to him?"

* * *

_August 6_ _th_ _2000_

Sam stepped out of the Roadhouse. It was a warm day and he felt the dry ground crunch beneath his sneakers. He wandered onto the road and whistled birdsongs.

His eyes travelled carefully over his surroundings. He supposed she wouldn't come out unless he was far away from the Roadhouse, so they could be alone. He kicked a stone up the empty road as he went, whistling louder. He stopped, he could feel her, and he slowly turned around.

Ava stood between him and the Roadhouse. 

"Hey, Sam," she said, smiling.

"Hello, little bird," Sam answered. They stared at each other for a moment, then Ava ran up and jumped into his arms. Sam held her close and swung her around.

"I haven't seen you in so long," Ava said when he put her down. "We were waiting for you to get better before you came back, but then you were taken. They couldn't find you for a while."

"You're strong now, little bird," Sam observed.

"I have full control over my abilities now, Sam. They can help you too."

"That's why I came," Sam replied. "I forgot what I was supposed to be. My family… they don't understand. They thought they saved me."

"Family isn't real, Sam, not for us," Ava said, she took his hand. "You were the best of us, but then you got ill. You can be the best again. We'll save the world together."

"I know, Ava. Take me back, please," he leaned in to whisper. "They think I'm helping them. I said I was using you to show them the way to the Institution. We have to be quick or John and Dean will catch us."

Ava nodded. "We'll go now. Sam, I'm so glad I could fix you, your family cracked you even worse than you already were."

She gripped his hand tight and tugged him after her down the road.

"We moved after you were taken," Ava explained. "We're only a state over from here now. It's lucky they brought you to Nebraska."

"How did you get here?" Sam asked. Ava pulled him off the road and onto a turnoff where a black car was parked.

"I drove," she said, grinning. "They taught us, thought it would be useful when they let us out into the field. Did you know I'm the first to have a mission? I'm meant to get you back."

She poked him playfully in the stomach and unlocked the car door. Sam took the passenger seat and Ava got behind the wheel.

"It took me two days to learn," she said as the engine came to life "Although, you would know that. I bet you'd have done it in one day."

Sam smiled. "You can teach me," he said. Ava's eyes lit up.

"I've missed you," she said. Sam nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. He carefully reached into his pocket and flicked the switch on the device which was hidden there.

"I've missed you too," he replied, every bit of it was the truth. Ava pulled onto the road and set off at a high speed.

"I'm getting them off our backs," she explained, rolling the windows down. She turned on the radio, grinning when she realised it was a Britney Spears song.

"You don't mind, do you?" she asked. Sam shrugged and leaned back, trying to enjoy the moment he had with his little bird.

"What about the others?" Sam asked.

"It's just me, Jake, Andy and Lily," she said, eyes on the road. "And you, now."

"Yeah," Sam agreed quietly. "And me."

"We're your family, Sam," Ava said. "Remember that we're the ones who share the same blood in your veins. Your brother and dad might have been your family once, but they haven't been for a long time."

Sam looked down.

"Don't worry," she soothed. "We take care of each other."

Sam nodded.

"If your family knew what you have inside of you, if they knew what you've done to be strong, they'd hunt you down like the rest of their monsters," Ava reminded him, patting him gently on the shoulder. "But we'll never turn you away."

Sam squirmed a little in his seat. He focused on counting the trees they drove past.

"They killed the rest of us," he said.

Ava sighed. "They couldn't help them. Death was better than anything else. They set them free, Sam. You can be saved…" she glanced at him and frowned, "I think you're reverting again. They'll fix you up when you get there, you'll remember who we are and what we do," she promised.

Sam gripped the seat and nodded. Sam didn't need to remember. He understood that they stole children and convinced them that they need to kill in order to cleanse their tainted blood. They'd riddled Ava's head completely and she didn't even know it. For once, Sam was the sanest one.

They drove for hours, Ava sang along to the radio and grinned at Sam the whole way. When she pulled over at a truck stop, Sam went to the bathroom and pulled out the cell hidden in his pocket.

" _Sam_ ," Dean answered immediately.

"I'm okay," Sam promised. "Are you tracking us?"

" _We're right behind you, kiddo_ ," Dean replied. " _Don't worry_."

"I'm not worrying," Sam said. "Ava's good. Don't hurt her."

" _Only if we have to, Sammy_."

"Don't hurt her," Sam repeated.

Dean sighed on the other end. " _Okay. We'll try_."

Sam didn't think that was much of an answer but he didn't bother arguing. If they didn't want to keep Ava safe then it would have to be Sam's job, just like it used to be. They ended the call quickly and Sam washed his hands.

She was waiting for him outside and tossed him a bag of pretzels. "I know we're usually on a strict diet, but since we're out I say we live a little," she said.

"I had a vision that you killed your brother," Ava said once they were back on the road. "But you didn't do it in the bar?"

"No, they stopped me," Sam replied quietly, head down. "I have the same vision. Over and over."

"Makes sense," Ava shrugged. "I only saw it once. He was your brother so you'd probably see it a lot. Do you know why you do it?"

"No," Sam answered. He turned to the window and blinked back any tears.

"You must have had a good reason. He must do something," she mused. "We don't make unnecessary kills."

Sam knew that wasn't true.

"They want us to take on the Demon, when we're ready," she told him. "I think we're almost there. When we kill it, we can start saving the world from everything else out there. You know, if I'd known about my powers before, I probably wouldn't have used them. I'd have been embarrassed. But after the Institution, I _know_ I have to use what I have for good, even when we were made for evil."

Ava was always a talker, Sam remembered. They drove past a sign that made Sam sit up straight to check he'd read it correctly.

"We're going to Kansas?" he asked. Ava nodded. Sam slumped back down. 

"There's no place like home, huh?" Ava said, grinning. The car slowed down and they pulled onto a small, empty road. Sam climbed out as Ava did and glanced around.

"This way," she called to him, walking off down the path. Sam followed her until they came to a set of metal stairs leading down to a metal door. There was a devil's trap painted on the ground in front of it.

"It's an upgrade from the old place, huh?" she said. Sam caught her arm just as she tried to descend the staircase. She frowned and looked up at him curiously. She gave out a surprised yelp when Sam yanked her back and pulled her away.

"Sam!" she squeaked.

"They've washed your brain, little bird," Sam hissed in her ear. "I'm going to fix it."

"Sam, what have you done?" she growled. She kicked him in the shin and yanked her arm free, moving into a fighting stance. "You might be their favourite but you're still fucking _crazy_."

"I'd rather be crazy than one of their puppets," Sam grunted as she swung at him. he ducked and pushed her away. "I've got no strings to hold me down," he sang.

"I trusted you!" she shrieked. "I wanted you back, but you lied to me. Were we being followed?"

"We're going to stop them," Sam promised. "You'll be free from your cage, little bird."

"Don't call me that," she hissed, and threw a kick that knocked Sam to the ground. Sam quickly swiped her feet from under her and they fell in a heap.

"They need to be stopped," Sam insisted, pouncing over her and pinning her down.

"They're all I have!" Ava screamed.

"They lied to you!" Sam could hear a car pulling up nearby, then doors slamming and people running. He hoped to God they were the right people.

"I can fix you again," Ava threatened. "I know how to do it."

"It won't last," Sam reminded her, then clamped his hand over her mouth. "How will you do it without a voice to sing, little bird?"

"Sam!" Dean called. He sprinted over and crouched down next to them. 

"If you make a move we'll put a bullet in you," Dean warned her, holding his gun emphatically. Ava didn't look frightened of it at all. In fact, if Sam didn't have his hand over her mouth, he was sure she'd laugh.

He was the only one who didn't underestimate her.

Dean got to his feet. "We've got work to do."


	17. The Institution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August 2000, Mission: impossible.

_August 6_ _th_ _2000_

The door was made of iron; heavy and large, Sam felt like it might swallow him up. The others didn't seem to see it, the way it stared at Sam, the way it laughed at him. They were all too busy trying to find a way in. He remembered the other door, from the old place they'd kept him locked up. He could remember only noticing it on the way out. That door had been made of iron, too.

Ava stared at him, Sam could feel the way her eyes prickled the back of his neck. He could almost hear her laughing in her own head, if he listened closely enough.

"Sammy?" Deans called. Sam cocked his head to the side so he could see him. Dean strode over, leaving the others to keep Ava held down. They weren't really holding her down; if she didn't want to be then she wouldn't be.

"You doing okay?" Dean asked, his face was pinched with worry, as it usually was when Sam where involved. Dean would have wrinkles before he was thirty at that rate. Sam considered his question and he found it difficult to find an answer.

"I don't think it makes a difference either way," Sam eventually decided. Dean frowned, the same frown he wore when he knew Sam was lying for the sake of everyone else. A long time ago, when he'd still hunted, he'd told Dean his ribs didn't hurt even though they'd been bruised when a ghost threw him into a cupboard. He lied because he didn't like to make people worry. He didn't want Dean to be old before he was thirty.

Dean sighed impatiently. "Humour me, okay?" he said.

"I'll be fine, if that's what you're asking. It's you I'm worried about," Sam admitted, his gaze wandered over to the door. "He's staring at me."

"Who?" Dean asked, looking around suspiciously.

"The door. It'll swallow us whole."

Dean's expression didn't change, but Sam saw something in his eyes that he hadn't seen in a very long time; Dean _understood_. "I won't let that happen," he said, patting Sam's shoulder.

"We're in!" Caleb called. Sam and Dean turned to find the door open, hungry and ready to eat. Sam's feet were moving towards it, they didn't listen to his brain which cried out to _run away_. The others were already moving inside with Ava held tightly. Bobby and Josh stayed at the door.

"We're keeping watch," Bobby explained. Sam realised he had been staring. "We'll come right away if you need." He held up a radio and gave Sam a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You be good, boy, okay?" he said.

"I'll be what I need to be," Sam told him just as Caleb pressed a handheld radio into his hand. Sam looked down at it like he'd never seen one before. 

They didn't have much of a plan, Sam knew. It was to go in with guns blazing, as they usually did. Sam didn't know how to get his words together anymore, his head was dancing too fast and he was scared he'd get dizzy, that his brain would slip right out of his ears if he wasn't careful.

"They're going to kill us," Sam muttered to himself, already growing jittery, he clenched his fists to stop his fingers from twitching. "They're already watching us. Big brother's watching."

"I'm sure they are," Dean agreed quietly by his ear. Sam couldn't help jumping a little, he hadn't paid attention to what was going on, he didn't remember walking through the door and down the stairs. Down, down, down.

"Scarier than a clown," Sam sang to himself, a tune made up in his head. "We're all going to drown. Down, down, down…"

"Shhh," someone hissed sharply. Sam quietened. 

The stairwell was dark and rusting, they could hear dripping from all angles, like an out of tune melody. The door at the bottom was open, a slither of clean, bright light seeped through.

Sam stopped, Dean almost crashed into him. "They're waiting for us," Sam whispered fearfully "They want Little Bird back. They want me, too."

"You can go back up, if you want," Dean offered. "Josh and Bobby will look after you. Dad, Caleb, Ellen and I can go on."

Sam shook his head frantically. "They can get in your head! They'll burrow in if I'm not there to pull the weeds out!"

"Okay," Dean sounded calm, but he was pale and Sam could see the whites of his eyes reflecting in the light from beyond the door.

John pushed it tentatively wider, keeping his body to the wall, his gun loaded and raised. Dean dipped his head forward and quickly glanced inside.

"I can't see anyone," he reported, "but I doubt that means anything good."

"If you threaten their Little Bird then they won't attack, not right away at least," Sam told them. He glanced at Ava, she stared back. "She's too valuable to them. So am I."

Without warning, Sam stepped quickly into the corridor. It was long and clean and florescent, like the last place had been. It hurt his eyes and made them water, for more than one reason. He took another step, then another.

"Get back here!" Dean hissed. Sam suppressed a laugh, it bubbled up in his chest and shook his bones.

"They won't do anything to me, not anymore," he realised. He glanced up at a camera above one of the doors and smiled.

"Hello again," he said as clearly as he could, trying not to let his voice shake. They couldn't know how scared he was. "I think you already know that I've brought friends. If you can act like grown-ups for once maybe I can introduce you."

Dean was still calling for him. He scrambled into the corridor, gun raised, he grabbed Sam and shoved him behind him, watching the end of the corridor cautiously. Sam placed a hand on Dean's arm, forcing the gun down.

"They want us to go to them," Sam said. "So that's what we'll do. We play Simon Says."

"What the hell were we thinking?" Dean cursed. "I'm an idiot to bring you here! Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

Sam smiled. "I haven't for a long time."

He could hear something, footsteps drawing closer. Dean looked up, his grip tightened on his gun. They still had masks, Sam could see once they turned into the corridor, there were only three of them. They weren't doctors or nurses, they weren't green or white enough, they were bigger, stronger. They had vests on and big guns in their hands. Dean had slipped in front of Sam, shielding him with his own body, his gun trained on the one in the middle.

"No one has to get hurt," one of them called out, his voice was muffled a little under the mask. Sam caught Dean's eye and nodded encouragingly, he leaned forward and slipped his hand around Dean's so they both held the gun. He tilted it down slightly.

"Sam, please don't," Dean whispered. "Don't give in."

"Do you trust me?" Sam said in his ear. Dean gave a slight nod. "Good," Sam smiled and nudged Dean's finger off the trigged and slid his own in place. He had figured out the calculations already; exactly what angle, how quick, how far the bullet would go from this distance.

He jerked Dean's arm and pulled the trigger. _Bang_. Again. _Bang_. One more time. _Bang._ All three men were already dying, Sam was quick enough that they didn't get a chance to aim. He knew he'd hit them in the neck, where they hadn't bothered to put armour. The bullets were lodged in their throats, and they were choking to death on their own blood.

Sam let go and Dean's arm dropped to his side. "God… I thought you were gonna…"

"I know you did," Sam said, "but they were lying. They were going to hurt you, I could feel it."

"We should've planned this better, huh?" Dean laughed nervously.

"We didn't have time," Sam said, "and we'd never be ready. They've gotten better since the last time."

The others were out in the corridor with them and Sam could feel more prickly eyes.

"We should still have just a little bit of a plan," Dean went on.

"We do," Sam answered, already heading down the corridor. "We kill them all."

No one answered him, and he didn't want them to. He kept walking and found relief in the sounds of their footsteps following him, tap, tap, tapping closer to him. At least this time he wasn't alone when he'd been swallowed whole.

This place was smaller than the last, Sam realised. He supposed they didn't need as much room since most of the children like Sam had been burned up long ago. But it was the same, in almost every other way, it was sharp and clean and bright and dangerous. It felt cold and Sam could feel the very air of the place seeping into his skin, tainting his sour blood even more.

He wasn't sure if the quiet was worse than the alternative, maybe he would prefer for them to come out and attack, then they could get it over with. But Sam could remember how this place worked. All the important things happened in the doctor's room or in the barracks. Sam had named the barracks; a large room used for their education, as it was called, because it was where they were prepared for war.

"I know where to go," Sam said, coming to a stop. He turned around and went to Ava who was still held firmly by John, his hand was over her mouth, Sam peeled it away.

"Where are my knives?" he demanded.

Ava smirked. "They're not yours anymore, nut-job."

"You won't say that when I stick you with them," Sam hissed. Ava's smile wavered and Sam laughed, at least she was smart enough not to underestimate him either.

"They're down this hall, to the left," she instructed. Her brow pinched; Sam wasn't sure if it was sad or angry. "You'll never beat them."

"We'll see," Sam said, already turning on his heel.

The room was just as big as the last, but he supposed they hadn't gotten rid of any of the weapons along with the children. He stepped in and glanced around. It was so beautiful, Sam had forgotten. Knives, blades and spears were hung on every inch of the wall, organised and divided under names.

Sam's things were still there, they'd always hoped he'd come back. He didn't like to think about how all of these weapons were mostly only effective on humans. He hadn't questioned it in the past.

Sam found his hands curling around the hilts of two very familiar blades. He pulled them off the hooks and twirled them around gracefully. They were long and slim and curved. One was silver, the other was iron. Sam had known why the first time they'd given them to him.

_Quick, sharp, and light,_ they'd said, _They fit you well, Sam._

The others were waiting for him when he came back out of the room. Dean gawked at the knives in Sam's hands.

"You should destroy what's left," Sam said, ignoring the looks on the other's faces. "Or take them. Just so long as they aren't left here."

"I've got a grenade," Caleb offered. Ellen glared at him.

"And why the hell have you got one of those?" she demanded.

"I wanted to be prepared for every possible situation," he defended, shrugging.

"If you blow it up then it might block our way out," John reasoned. "Save it until we're done here. We destroy all of it."

"Then someone guards it," Dean said, "and shoots anyone who comes close."

"I'll do it," Ellen volunteered, loading her gun. She had that look on her face that Sam had seen a lot since they first met not very long ago. If you argued with her, you wouldn't win.

"Go," she urged, shoving Caleb's shoulder hard. Caleb did as he was told and kept walking, following Sam who was already striding down the corridor. There were only four of them now. Sam gripped his knives tighter, finding comfort in the weapons in his hands. It had been so long since anyone had let him hold a weapon, since anyone had really trusted him. It was a good feeling and Sam wouldn't mind if it was the feeling he died with.

They reached the end of the corridor where it split in two. Sam went to Ava and whispered in her ear so no one would hear. "Where are the others?"

"To the right, in the barracks," she answered just as quietly. "But you already knew that."

Sam stepped back and Ava smiled at him like she had a dirty secret. Sam didn't remember Ava ever having a smile like that before.

"You should go left," Sam said to the others. "Guards are that way and you need guns."

Dean glared at Sam. "And where are you going?"

"The other way," Sam said, looking down the corridor.

"I'm coming too," Dean said.

"No, you're not," Sam argued. "They'll kill you. You can take on guns but you can't take on _us_." He gestured to himself an Ava.

"So you'll fight them all by yourself?" Dean said incredulously. "There's no way in hell I'm letting that happen."

"Yes. You are."

"No, Sam," Dean snapped. "How do you know this isn't a trick? How do you know they aren't already getting into your head?"

Sam glared back at him. "Dean, they'll kill you."

"They can try," Dean said, already stepping down the right corridor. "You coming or what?"

Sam growled at him. Dean was stubborn, it ran in the family, but it would get him killed at a time like this. Dean lifted an eyebrow and gestured down the hall. Sam knew he wouldn't be able to stop him, he'd just have to protect him. Sam turned back to John.

"I need her," he said, already grabbing Ava's arm. "You can't keep a hold of her."

"I've been doing that since we got here," his dad pointed out.

Sam quirked a brow and smirked. Ava giggled beside him. "No you haven't," Sam told him.

He turned around, pulling Ava with him, without another word. He held Ava close, keeping one of his knives to her throat. She was stiffer under Sam's hand; she knew he was the best of them after all. 

The barracks was at the end of the hall, the double doors were already open wide and Sam slowed as they got nearer.

"Dean, stay here," he ordered. He laughed suddenly. He sounded an awful lot like a soldier. Dean opened his mouth but Sam cut off whatever he was going to say with a sharp glare. It must have gotten the message across because Dean nodded and got his gun ready. Sam pushed Ava forward and they went in to the room.

The others were there. Jake, Lily and Andy; the only ones left. His brothers and sisters. He'd never tried to explain it to Dean, he never would've understood if he'd tried to, he never would have understood that for a long time these other children were the only people he had. They shared almost as much of Sam's blood as Dean did.

Jake noticed them first, he was about to step forward but he paused when he noticed that Sam had his blade to Ava's throat. Lily made no expression, Sam had always thought she was silently sad, always so quiet and unassuming. Andy's face is what hurt the most; a grin had been spreading at the sight of Sam but it quickly dropped when he noticed what Sam was doing. He looked utterly hurt.

"Sam," Jake said. His voice held a handful of meanings; a greeting, a warning, friendship and rivalry, all at once. "You're back."

Sam didn't answer, he was still taking them in. This was probably the first real job any of them had been given. They had weapons strapped on- silver and iron.

"I want you to come with us," Sam offered. "Help us destroy them."

And stepped forward, his fists curled up. "Why should we?" he demanded. "Will you point your knives at us too?"

Sam struggled not to recoil. Andy was never angry, he'd always been so small and frightened, too scared not to be obedient. But here he was; small and angry and more powerful than anyone could know. Andy was the only one who could do what he did, Ansem had once but he hadn't been good enough.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," Sam promised. "I just want to make sure you won't hurt my family."

Lily still stared at him silently, her eyes said a thousand words.

"I'll let Ava go," Sam said, slowly moving his knife from her neck. He stepped back and put his weapons on the ground. "Fly away little bird."

Ava dashed over to the others, rubbing her neck, she scowled at Sam. Sam slowly rose to his full height and kept his hands held in surrender. The others considered him and Sam gulped. He had no way of knowing what they were thinking, he couldn't use his abilities on them.

"You have to say something!" Sam cried desperately. "I can't see the connections with you, the colours are dull, there's no story, the books are bound shut, tut, tut!"

He gasped and ground his teeth together.

Jake's eyes widened a little. "So you're still batshit?"

Sam glanced at him, amused suddenly. "I prefer insane," Sam said, smiling wide. He noticed Andy suppress a laugh. Sam was getting through to them, he took another step forward.

"Don't you want to see your family again?" he asked Jake. "You told me about your little sister. Don't you want to see her again?"

Jake's jaw clenched. "Of course I do," he spat. "More than anything. But if I leave then they'll hurt her. If I'm what they want then she'll be safe."

Sam laughed. "They're lying to you," he sing-songed. Jake didn't look happy.

"Shut your mouth, psycho," he yelled. "They said to return you to them. That's what I'm going to do."

The next thing Sam knew, Jake was coming for him, muscular arms swinging. Jake was the strongest, but Sam was the quickest and he ducked out of the way of each of Jake's punches. He was being backed into a wall, further from his weapons, and he tried to weave past him. Jake grabbed his collar and yanked him back.

"Sam!" it was Dean. Sam looked up and blanched at the sight of his brother running into the room, gun raised and aimed at Lily. "Let him go!" he demanded.

Jake held Sam tighter. "Andy," he called. Andy startled, for a moment he didn't do anything, just looked from Jake to Sam. The expression on his face was apologetic. He turned to Dean.

"Put your gun down and don't move," he commanded. Dean put his gun on the ground and stayed where he was. Jake nodded to Lily, she moved towards Dean, understanding the order. Sam panicked and tried to pull away, but Jake was too strong and he yanked harder on Sam's collar, cutting off his air. Lily was getting closer and Dean wasn't moving.

Sam grabbed Jake's arm and kicked himself upwards, hooking his legs around his neck. Jake stumbled and fell forwards, Sam yanked him hard on the way down and managed to land on top of him. He got to his feet and dashed over to Dean, barrelling into him and pushing him out of the way of Lily. Dean gasped and squirmed when he hit the ground. Sam was already on his feet, going towards Lily, grabbing his knives as he did. He swung at her, slicing a gash in her upper arm. She cried out and backed into the corner.

Andy hadn't moved, he stood there, wide-eyed.

Sam could hear Jake seething and he turned in time to see him as he tossed Sam into a wall.

The air was knocked out of him and Sam choked. When he tried to sit up his ribs screamed in protest. Jake was coming at him, one of his small knives had been unsheathed. There was a yell and suddenly Dean was there, ramming into Jake. Jake was caught off guard and he stumbled to the side, swinging his knife out madly.

Dean staggered back, his hands clutched to his side. Sam saw red. Dean's shirt was staining red. Someone was screaming furiously and Sam didn't notice it was him until he was already running at Jake. He swung his fist hard at his face and their flesh met with a sickening crack. Sam expected to feel his broken bones, but there was nothing, just raw flesh on his knuckles. Jake was on his knees, cradling his loose jaw. Sam advanced on him but Jake crawled away, he clambering to his feet and was out the door quickly. Sam glanced around. All of them were gone.

"Sam," Dean said, voice tight with pain. He stumbled, arm reaching out.

"Dean!" Sam cried. He caught him under his arms and helped lower him to the ground. Dean groaned as he was jostled slightly. Sam peeled back the blood-soaked fabric and tried not to gag at the deep slice in his brother's side.

"I'm okay," Dean lied. "I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"Don't try to trick me," Sam scolded, tears gathered in his eyes. "My brain might be tied in knots but it still works."

Dean let out a pained laugh, he clutched harder at his wound. Sam shifted him towards the door.

"What're you doing?" Dean moaned.

"Getting you out of here," Sam said, he pulled his brother into the hallway. "If I can get you to Ellen then she can get you to Bobby."

"And what about you?" Dean asked, letting out a shuddering breath.

"I go after Jake and the others," Sam said through gritted teeth, "and I kill them."

"Sam, s-stop!" Dean yelped. Sam stopped, they were halfway down the hall.

"We need to keep going!" Sam urged.

"I can walk," Dean said. "H-help me up."

Sam looked down at him doubtfully, but he helped him up as gently as he could anyway. Dean gritted his teeth together and groaned at the back of his throat. They staggered on, Sam taking most of Dean's weight. They stopped when they heard gun shots. Sam pulled them out of the corridor and into one of the rooms. It looked like an office, impeccably organised and bland. Sam dragged Dean around behind the desk and lowered him onto the floor.

"I'll get help," Sam promised, he moved towards the door. Dean grabbed his ankle.

"Don't go after the others," he gritted out. "They'll kill you. O-or you'll be caught."

Sam didn't answer, just unsheathed his blades, his grip was steady and firm.

"Sammy…"

Sam looked down to where his brother was lying, one hand pressed against his side, blood seeping through his fingers. His skin was pale and white, his eyes wide and terrified.

"Sammy… please…"

Dean was begging, tears slipping down his cheeks. He coughed, his lips reddening. Sam looked down at the blade in his hand which was stained with Lily's blood.

"Sam, please don't… Sam… please…"

The familiarity of the situation struck him suddenly, he should have realised earlier. He'd been dreaming about this moment for weeks. He couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face.

"You won't die," Sam assured him. "I would have seen it. I wasn't seeing your death, it was mine."

Sam laughed and Dean cried. He tugged his leg out of Dean's grip and hurried out the door, already calling for help for Dean with his radio. 

He ran down the hall, he could still hear gun shots. The others, his brothers and sisters, would be there, but even they couldn't fight guns once the bullet was in the air. He turned into another room and came to a halt once he was inside. There were doctors and nurses, but this time they didn't have masks on. He could see their faces, and still, they all looked the same to him. They weren't people. They weren't anything.

They looked up when they saw him and gasped. "My God," a woman whispered.

"You," Sam said, voice shaking. One of them took a step forward, opening their mouth to speak, but Sam quickly silenced them.

"You were all very unkind to me," Sam said, finding his voice. His hands were gripped tight, knives pointing accusingly. "You chopped and hacked and sliced. I didn't like that."

"We were trying to help," a man defended. None of them were moving, they knew what he could do. "You lost your mind."

"You stole it!" Sam bellowed. One of the men jumped back. Sam laughed. "Not so brave now?"

He stepped back and slid the lock on the door. "You made me," he said, moving closer, "And now you'll see _exactly_ what you made."

He dropped his knives on the floor with a clang. He wouldn't need them. He'd only need the weapon they gave him; his mind.

* * *

Dean could feel every inch of his body throbbing, pulsing between his fingers. His skin was cold and his insides were hot. But it wasn't the pain that was on his mind. Dean was terrified for Sammy. His little brother was out there on his own and Dean knew he wouldn't be able to get up. He needed to get up. 

_Clack clack clack clack_

It echoed, louder and louder, coming his way. He glanced up just as she entered the room.

She was tall, sleek and sharp. Her white suit was pristine and her pointed heels shone smoothly. She hurried around the office, stilettos _clacking_ on the concrete floor, grabbing files and stacks of papers. She gasped when she saw Dean.

"Aren't you a surprised," she commented, sounding breathless. "Sam's brother, I presume?"

"H-how d'you know?" Dean stuttered. The woman smiled.

"I know everything about our children," she said softly. "Or else I wouldn't be good at my job."

"Y-you in charge of this?"

"Yes, I suppose I am," she nodded.

Dean spat at her feet. She stepped back in time to protect her stilettos.

"Why?" Dean demanded.

She crouched down, looked him in the eye. "I supposed I owe you that much. Have you ever heard of Magnus, or Cuthbert Sinclair as he was once known?"

Dean stared at her blankly.

"I supposed not," she said thoughtfully. "There are more than just hunters. Think supernatural scholars. There were some who wanted to harness the supernatural to their own uses, _good uses_. I lost some people very dear to me to the creatures you hunt. I wanted revenge… and I had enough money to achieve it. Or so I thought."

"S-so you kidnapped children?"

"Monsters," she corrected. "All we did was put monsters on a leash."

" _My brother…_ "

"Is a monster," she interrupted. "I saved him from what he would have been. At least I tried to."

"How d'you know that?" Dean argued. "W-what proof d'you have?"

"I know a lot of things," she said evasively. "I know that you're dying. And I know that all of this," she gestured around her, "has gone to shit, so I'd better run. I'm sure some _thing_ will be very unhappy with me for what I've tried to do here."

"Then I hope they rip you apart," Dean growled. The woman smiled again, red lipstick and white teeth.

"I'll give you some advice," she said. "One day your brother will have a very dark purpose and he _will_ fulfil it. Make sure you put him down before that happens… though I doubt you'll get the chance. I give you before the end of the day."

"Fuck. You!" he hissed. He gritted his teeth, his side was burning.

The woman just smiled. She grabbed the files and disappeared, heels clicking the floor as she went. Dean screamed.

He found himself breathless, the world faded in and out. It was dark for a while, then he opened his eyes just as someone rushed to his side. He could hear his name being called. Then, he was hoisted upwards, something pressed to his side. It didn't hurt, not anymore. He let his head fall back and he was gone again.

* * *

Sam stumbled. He felt numb. Every inch of his body was numb. His head was on fire and it burned his eyes, making them water. He sobbed. Sam could feel his blood leaking from his nose and ears. He'd never been that strong before, and never wanted to be again. He could see someone running towards him, but his vision was too blurry to tell who it was.

So much power. It was in him. He could feel it humming through his veins like a disease, like maggots wriggling away under his skin. He felt like he was rotting from the inside, and the only thing holding him together was his own sour flesh.

He hummed to himself.

_Hey, Jude… don't make it bad… just take a sad song and make it better…_

He remembered Dean singing that to him when he was little; he'd told him it was their mother's lullaby. Sam liked to imagine a woman with warm hands and a kind smile and yellow hair holding him and singing to him. He looked at his red hands and couldn't recall who the blood belonged to. He hoped his mother wouldn't be disappointed in what he'd done, if she could see him.

He felt his legs go out from under him and his knees hit the floor with a heavy thud, he didn't even feel it. Someone grabbed him, hands one his face, fingers in his hair. It was gentle and it didn't match the frantic yelling coming from their mouth. He imagined it was a woman with warm hands and a kind smile and yellow hair, and he let his eyes fall shut.


	18. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 2000, Sam is different. August 2000, Sam is gone.

_June 2_ _nd_ _2000_

Dean's heart was beating a mile a minute. Sam was back, he was there, right in front of him. He was happy, he was, but something was keeping him from smiling.

"They've got eyes, ears, everything is everywhere!" Sam was insisting loudly, back pressed up against the back of the seats, and as far from the doors as possible. He wouldn't come out.

"Sammy, we're just going from one van to another," John said, hands spread, kneeling beside him inside the vehicle, trying to coax out a spooked animal. "You'll be fine."

"It's all the same," Sam said, shuddering. "This or that, or that and this. They can play with our brains, and our eyes and ears. too."

Dean felt nauseous. He rubbed the palm of his hand into his eye, closing them for a moment, half-hoping that when he opened them again that Sam might start making sense again.

John sighed sadly. "I don't know what you're talking about, kiddo."

"Eyes and ears," Sam stressed. He made a circle with his thumb and forefinger and held it up to his eye like a spy glass. "See?"

John looked away for a second, collecting himself, then turned back to his son. "Yeah, I see," he lied. "Come with me now."

Sam looked at him for a long time, not moving a muscle. Then, as quick as a flash he nodded his head enthusiastically and crawled forward. "Eyes and ears and mouth and nose," he sang under his breath as he went. He stopped next to Dean and looked at the pendant around his neck. He took it in his hands and fumbled with it between his fingers.

"Do you remember that?" Dean asked gently, "You gave it to me for Christmas when we were kids."

Sam let go of the pendant and looked up, giving Dean a scolding look. "I have a brain so I remember. Even if they broke it up and puzzled it back together like a jigsaw. Puzzle… muzzle."

His eyes wandered off and the pendant slipped from his fingers. Dean put out a hesitant hand and placed it on Sam's shoulder. Sam barely paid any notice.

"Come on, Sammy," he encouraged, steering him towards the other van. Sam followed along, taking in everything and everyone around him like he was seeing it for the first time.

"Sammy," he repeated. "Sam _my_. _Sam_ my. It's a nice name. It hasn't been mine for a while. Did you keep it safe for me?"

"Sure did, Sammy," Dean promised. Sam beamed.

"Sam sounds too sharp. You should be careful with it, or it'll be slice, slice, dice," he said, hand gestures to accompany. "And _Samuel_ sounds foreign. I don't understand it; it slips and slides when you say it. Up and down."

John, Dean and Caleb hopped into the back. Dean's hand stayed on Sam's shoulder, worried he might try to bolt.

" _Sammy_. That one's warm," Sam went on, smiling fondly to himself. "I could wrap up in it and go to sleep."

"Why don't you?" Dean suggested. Sam was purple around the eyes, sagging with exhaustion. Sam frowned and backed away a step, Dean held tighter as the movement of the van threatened to knock Sam over.

"But then I might wake up," Sam said quietly, almost frantic. "I'm not ready to go yet. I missed you."

"I'm right here," Dean promised.

"That's a nice thing to say," Sam whispered, "but it's a lie."

He frowned, staring at his feet, he pulled his knees up against his chest. He rested his head against the back of the driver's seat.

Dean hadn't understood a single word Sam had said since he found him, but this was beginning to make sense.

"Sammy," Dean said, using the apparently favoured name. Sam used to hate it. 'It's Sam,' he used to say.

Sam looked up tiredly, his face was miserable.

"Sammy," Dean repeated. "You know that you're here, right? I'm really here."

Sam didn't answer, but his eyes began to well up with tears, he didn't let any fall.

"I don't know, not anymore," Sam croaked. "I can't tell anymore because there's _too much_."

"I know," Dean said. "I can tell for you. You trust me, don't you?"

Sam nodded immediately. "Always, always, always."

"Then, do you believe me if I tell you that I'm here and you're here?"

Sam paused for a moment, and then nodded again. He uncurled himself and shuffled closer to Dean. He shifted hesitantly for a moment before pushing on Dean's legs, flattening them down on the floor so he could rest his head on them.

Dean reached out to put a hand through his hair instinctively but Sam reached up and knocked it away gently. The motion of the vehicle speeding down the highway was a familiar one and Sam soon fell asleep. Dean watched him, seeing the way he even slept differently. Sam used to be a very still sleeper, he'd been an early riser, but when he was actually asleep he would gone. Now, Sam's nose and mouth twitched, his eyes were restless beneath their lids. He hummed and murmured, his limbs ticked now and then.

Dean looked up and saw his father crying silently to himself.

**********

When Bobby pulled up into his salvage yard, Sam jolted awake as soon as the engine stopped. He jumped up off of Dean's lap. It took a moment for him to orient himself and blinked hard at Dean, panting.

"We're at Bobby's," Dean told him, being as clear as possible. Sam nodded. When they opened the van, he squinted and shied away from the light. It was sunset, the sky a bright smear of pink and orange and purple. A vast bruise above them.

Sam stared at it with awe, once he managed to look up again, and he tiptoed out of the van.

"She's beautiful," he said. "She makes a song and dance before she goes to sleep. Schön."

Caleb shut the van doors, resulting in a loud slam. Sam to flinch violently, hands going up to his ears. "It's _too loud_ ," he hissed. "Don't make it _louder. Why would you do that?"_

Caleb looked at Dean helplessly.

"Sammy," Dean called softly. Sam looked up but his hands didn't budge. "Sammy, do you want to come inside? Bobby will make you some food, or you could have a bath, or sleep."

Sam's glanced over to Bobby, then back to Dean. He nodded and let Dean guide him to the house. Everyone was quiet, standing around awkwardly, staring at Sam a little too long. Mostly, they seemed to want to give him space. Bobby went about heating up some soup and Dean helped Sam sit down on the couch.

Sam looked around the room, knees bouncing. Bobby came in with a bowl of soup and a slice of bread; he set the tray down on Sam's lap.

"It's hot so be careful," he warned. "I don't have much in the kitchen, but we can get you whatever food you like from the store."

Sam smiled. "I like this because you made it," he said, and he blew gently into the bowl to cool it. Sam ate every bit of it, seemingly unaffected by the fact that four grown hunters were staring at him. When he was done he set the tray to the side and brought his legs up and crossed them. He stared back at them all and cocked his head to the side.

"Are we playing a game?" he asked."I played them a lot before. You can't blink or you lose."

"We'll play a game if you want to," Dean said.

"I didn't want to, not that one," Sam said, gaze distracted. "I just didn't have much else to do except stare and try not to blink."

Dean sighed and crouched down in front of his brother. "Sam, we need you tell us what happened."

Sam frowned. "When?" he asked.

"Back there, at the place they had you," Dean explained. "You need to tell us what they did to you."

Sam's head shot up, his eyes were dark. "I don't!"

Dean swallowed back his impatience. "Sammy, we need to know what they did."

"You don't!" Sam yelled, scrambling off the sofa. "I don't need to do anything. Not anymore. I'm out now, you said so."

"Sam, calm down," John ordered. Sam began to pace. His feet were filthy and bare. His white clothes were crinkled and dirty. But his eyes, wild and dark and too knowing. The boy was a mess.

"I don't need to do anything except _be_. They wanted me to be more, but I couldn't be so I snapped and you can't fix a rubber band, you have to tie the ends together, but it's never the same, never stretches as wide. I don't need to do anything except breathe and eat and sleep and _be._ Buzzy bee. Don't you see?"

"I don't understand you, Sammy," Dean said. "You aren't making any sense."

"It's-Sam, just-Sam, they _killed_ him. I'm so _sorry_ ," Sam said. He suddenly burst into tears. "There wasn't even a body to bury, I would've done that for you if I could. You saved the wrong one. You were too late for _Sam_. Late for a very important date…"

"Sam," said John.

"No time to say _hello, goodbye_ I'm late, I'm late, I'm late," Sam sang. He was starting to shake. "I can't even count tiles anymore. What do I do now?"

He had backed himself into a corner, his whole body was trembling and he was looking at Dean as if he had all the answers. Bobby, Josh and Caleb had backed away a little, as if Sam might explode and they didn't know how big the radius was when he went off.

"H-how to I begin to…" Sam choked a little, wrapping his arms around himself. "Where do I find my mind again, how can I ask for forgiveness? How can I be a person again?"

Dean swallowed back his tears and took a step forward. "You are a person," he promised. "You're my little brother."

Sam sniffed and looked up. "Am I?" he asked shakily.

"Yes," Dean said firmly, he took a breath. "If you don't want to tell us what happened right now, that's fine."

Sam's nose twitched. "What if I never want to?"

Dean sighed. "We'll come to that when we come to it."

Sam nodded slowly and unfolded himself, clearing his throat. "I want to sleep," he said, then quickly added. "In a room without eyes or ears, and a bed that doesn't plot against me."

"I've got just the room for you," Bobby spoke up from behind, smiling kindly. Dean was thankful for the interruption; he wasn't sure he could find any more words for Sam. 

There was a bark and the sound of claws clicking against the hardwood floors as Bobby's Rottweiler came bounding into the room. Once he spotted Sam he perked up and trotted over, sniffing at the boy enthusiastically.

"You leave him alone, Rumsfeld!" Bobby scolded, moving to pull the dog away. Sam dropped to his knees and stared at the animal as if had just solved everything. He allowed Rumsfeld to lick his face and he giggled, stroking the soft fur around the dog's neck.

"He knows me!" Sam exclaimed, Dean knew that wasn't true; Sam had never met the dog before. "And he's not _loud!_ I can't hear him, not like everyone else."

He laughed happily when the dog flopped onto his back, showing Sam his belly.

"He's not normally allowed upstairs," Bobby said, "but I guess I can make an exception for you."

Sam beamed. Upstairs, Dean wondered if it would've been hard to get Sam into bed if the damn dog hadn't been there. He pulled the sheet up to Sam's chest, Rumsfeld curled up at his side. Dean didn't know what else he was supposed to do so he turned to leave. Sam grabbed his arm.

"What is it, Sammy?"

"I missed you," Sam said sleepily, eyes already slipping shut. "Every day. I prayed every day."

Dean's chest tightened and he swallowed back the lump in his throat. "God… I missed you so damn much."

Sam let go of his arm and Dean patted his hand gently, folding it over his chest when it flopped off the side of the bed.

Downstairs, everyone was standing quietly in the study; the air was stiff with grief. They all looked up when Dean entered.

"He's asleep," he told them. "D'you have any whiskey?"

Bobby nodded, disappearing into the kitchen. Dean dropped down onto the couch.

"Dean, I'm real sorry," Caleb said quietly. 

"Why?" Dean asked stiffly. "Because those _people_ fucked my brother up in the head?"

Caleb flinched. "Dean, I didn't…"

"Well, I'm real sorry about it, too," Dean interrupted miserably. He took a long drink when Bobby handed him a glass. It wasn't enough; he'd need to get completely wasted to even make a dent on the messed up situation he was in.

"Caleb and I agreed we should go back," Josh said. "Try to find out more, seeing as Sam doesn't want to say anything."

"Then go," Dean answered sharply. The other two nodded and turned away. Dean sighed. "I'm sorry. Thank you… for everything."

They nodded again. "We'll be back soon, okay?" Caleb promised. 

Dean didn't feel like talking much anymore, he just let them leave without another word. He didn't feel like sleeping either, he just wanted to drink. But, God, he was so tired. He drank with his dad and Bobby, none of them talking much. Then, Sam started screaming and Dean finally understood that saving his brother was only the beginning.

Sam was never going to be okay.

* * *

_August 8_ _th_ _2000_

It was dark and warm and numb. He didn't want to leave. He'd forgotten how he'd got there. Why he was there? There was a sound; high pitched, going round and around in a loop. How hadn't he noticed that before? There were voices, but he didn't quite understand what they were saying, it was like they were coming from far away.

"…responding well to the treatment," the voices were becoming clearer. He didn't recognise who was speaking. "He should be waking up very soon."

"Thank God," Dean knew that voice; it was his dad. "And my other son?"

"We're unsure, but we're still running tests. We'll let you know as soon as we can."

That didn't sound good and he tried to shift so he could hear the conversation better. A dull pain shot through his side, but it was a pain nonetheless, and he groaned.

"I think he's waking up," John said, and he could feel someone's presence looming over him. "Can you hear me, son?"

He peeled his eyes open, with a great amount of effort, and squinted at the bright white of the hospital room. John's face came into focus. He looked haggard; dark circles under his eyes, unkempt hair. But he smiled.

"Dean," John breathed with relief. "It's good to see you."

Dean was about to ask where he'd been when he remembered; the other children, Jake slashing him, the woman in the office, feeling his blood slipping between his fingers and…

"Sam," he said, his voice was rough. A straw was brought to his lips and he drank, the water cooled his parched throat.

"Sammy," he said again once the straw was gone. John smiled sadly.

"He's here, in the hospital," he said. Dean frowned; there was something hiding in John's eyes.

"Is he okay?" Dean asked. "Where is he?"

"He's in a different room," John explained. "He's not… we don't know what's wrong with him."

Dean tried to sit up, instantly regretting the decision as pain lit up his side. John held him back.

"You've got a lot of stitches, Dean," he warned. "It's gonna hurt for a long time so stay still. One of your organs got nicked, you were bleeding internally, but the surgeons fixed you up."

"What's wrong with Sam?" Dean demanded.

John took a breath. "We don't know," he explained. "He's a little bruised up, cracked a rib, but physically he's fine. He hasn't woken up yet, we don't know why."

"I need to see him," Dean said.

"You're in no condition to be moving around," the doctor interrupted, Dean scowled at him.

"I'm going to see him," Dean said clearly. "Now, you can either let me do it on my own, wandering around this damn hospital until I find him, pulling stitches and leaking blood all over your spotless floors. Or, you get me a freaking wheelchair and take me to see him. Which one will it be?"

The doctor let out a long-suffering sigh and nodded. "I'll get a nurse," he grumbled, heading out into the hallway. John gave Dean an amused smile.

Being rolled into a different corridor, and then six doors down was a far longer journey than Dean was comfortable with. They were going at a snail's pace. He turned and glared at the nurse. "Are you scared you'll get a ticket?" he said irritably. "Come on, Nurse Ratched!"

The nurse rolled her eyes and kept pushing, she stopped at a closed door and pushed it open, steering the wheelchair inside and over to the bed.

Sam was unconscious; a mask over his face, the bed was tilted up a little.

"Sammy," Dean sighed. "What did you do?"

"He's been having frequent nose bleeds," the nurse explained, adjusting Sam's IV. "All of the scans show no sign of head trauma or brain injury so we're unsure of the cause right now."

"Thanks," Dean mumbled. "Can we have a moment?"

The nurse nodded and left. John approached and rested a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"What happened?" Dean asked. "Back there."

"Caleb found you," John explained. "Sam sent out a call on the radios. We took out all the security but we didn't see any of the other kids Sam told us about. Ellen found Sam; his nose and ears were bleeding, he just collapsed apparently. We found their doctors too; all of them were dead. We don't know who did that."

"It was Sam," Dean said, finding himself sure of it. "Sam wanted revenge. He told me he was going to die."

"He won't," John promised. "Because I'll drag his dumb ass back to the land of the living if he does."

Dean huffed a laugh. "What else?"

"We destroyed the place," John explained. "It's all gone."

"What about the woman?" Dean asked. "She was running the whole thing."

John frowned. "I never saw any woman."

Suddenly, Sam gasped. Dean looked over to find his eyes wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"Sam?" he called, trying to get closer. His wounded side wouldn't allow him; he hissed in pain. John pushed him back into the chair and pressed the call button, by the time the nurse arrived Sam was unconscious again.

"He opened his eyes," Dean told her. He looked back to Sam to see his nose bleeding. The nurse quickly moved to clean it up.

"You should go back to the room," she said, it was a command more than a suggestion.

Back in bed, Dean couldn't sleep despite the bone-deep weariness he felt. John wasn't around; he'd gone off to do.... something, Dean hadn't been listening. All he could do was lie awake and worry about Sam. A small sound caught his attention and he looked up, he couldn't see anything past the curtain around his bed. A shadow approached, a hand reached out and pulled it back.

The kid was small, a little weedy. Dean recognised him. His eyes went wide when he realised it was the boy Sam had called Andy.

"You!" Dean hissed. "Don't you dare go near my brother!"

Andy held up his hands defensively and tried to shush him. "I want to help," he insisted. "I know Sam is hurt."

Dean frowned, eyeing the boy up. He certainly didn't look menacing in any way, yet he could remember having no choice but to do exactly what he told him to do.

"Don't use your Jedi mind trick on me," Dean warned. Andy laughed a little.

" _These are not the droids you're looking for_ ," he mimicked, smiling. "I love that movie."

Dean frowned harder.

"Right," Andy nodded, understanding. "You have no clue what's going on. So you destroyed the institution, right? Well, now me and the others are pretty much free to go where we want. I don't know where Ava went, but I think Jake and Lily went to find their families."

"And you?"

Andy shrugged. "I've always been a bit of a lone wolf," he said, he winked. "It feels good to be out. It's like I've got this weight lifted. I'm not scared anymore. Oh, sorry about back there, you know? I was just following orders."

"Right," Dean agreed, still a little confused. "What are you doing here?"

"I want to help Sam," Andy said, more seriously. "I kinda followed you guys once I'd seen what condition you two were in, I know why Sam won't wake up."

"Why?"

"Well…" he paused. "This is a long explanation. Maybe we could talk about it on the way to Sam."

"Why do you want to help him?"

Andy stared at him like he was an idiot. "Sam _saved_ us, and not just back there. He always looked out for us and he paid with his sanity for it."

Dean let the kid help him out of bed and into the wheelchair. "How come you guys weren't like Sam?"

"There were others that lost it; Max went off the rails. But those ones… _went away_ and didn't come back. I guess they liked Sam too much to do that to him. I think he would've stayed sane if he'd just done as he was told; he wouldn't have spent so long in isolation."

Dean gulped. "That sounds like Sam, putting himself on the line for everyone else."

"He's a good guy; that's why I want to help."

"How can you?" Dean asked as they turned into another corridor.

"Sam used his powers back at this Institution," Andy explained, "but he pushed himself, unlocked things he probably never knew he had, he could have torn himself apart. He nearly did."

"God, Sam."

"He's trapped himself inside his head, you know?" Andy went on. "His brain's working like nobody's business, trying to make sense of all that new stuff. He's stuck in it all."

"How do you know this?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"Dude, you're talking to a psychic."

Sam was in the same condition as when Dean last saw him. Andy pushed him over this his bedside and locked the wheels, then rounded to the other side.

"He's lost," he explained. "I want to send him a message to let him know he can wake up."

He leaned over and placed a hand on Sam's forehead and closed his eyes. Dean watched for a minute with anticipation.

"Is it working?" he asked hesitantly when nothing happened.

Andy frowned. "He's not listening to me," he huffed and opened his eyes. He looked over to Dean and held out his hand. "D'you wanna say anything to him?"

Dean stared at Andy's hand, then reached over and took it. "Do I just say it out loud?"

"In your head," Andy corrected. "He's not listening to what's out here."

"Right," Dean took a deep breath.

_Hey, Sammy. I hope you're listening to me. Basically, you did it, kiddo, you're a hero; you saved your friends. But the thing is that you've gotten yourself stuck in that big old head of yours and it would be nice if you'd wake up. There's a lot I want to do now, after everything that's happened, and you need to wake up if you want to join me…_

… _come on, bitch, I miss you._

Dean peeped an eye open and looked up at Andy. "Did it work?"

Andy grinned at him. "Take a look for yourself."

Dean looked down. Sam's eyes were open and staring tiredly up at him, Sam smiled.

"Hey, Dean," he whispered, breath fogging up the mask. Dean looked up to thank Andy, but the kid was gone. He could hear his footsteps out in the corridor. Dean looked down to Sam again and palmed his cheek.

"Hey, Sam, you're going to be okay."


	19. Bright Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and his family celebrate his 18th birthday.

_Manhattan. October 5_ _th_ _2000_

Anger wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, if he was capable of feeling at all. But right now, anger wasn't even close. This was rage.

An indescribable amount of time had been put into this project. Starting with tracking down the right bloodlines, making deals with the mothers with a little persuasion, visiting the children when they were six months old to give them a gift. Better than mother's milk.

Not to mention the centuries long before those children were even an idea in their grandmothers' heads. It had been foretold since Lucifer fell. And what did it take to destroy a destiny which had been written for millennia?

_Humans_.

Azazel had done his job. He had contacted Lucifer.

_A child. A very special child._

And his lord hadn't been exactly specific. Can you imagine how difficult it is to find this _special child_ when there are billions of them on the planet?

Azazel had found plenty of special children and he had fed them his blood. He'd been waiting, watching them grow, and one day they would decide amongst themselves who would be the best.

Except there was a problem. There were only _five_ of them left. Not to mention that one or two of them weren't exactly what you would call stable.

No. _Furious_ couldn't even compare to what Azazel was feeling.

It was a serious fuck-up to lose twenty seriously important children to a bunch of _humans_. Especially when you had your best demons out there keeping an eye on them. He hadn't wasted much time in sending them back down to the pit for another few thousand years.

But there was always a light at the end of the tunnel; Lucifer's freedom was written already. And what was written could never be unwritten. Azazel had some things to take care of. There was a woman who had caused him a lot of grief and he needed to speak with her. She was running, but she wouldn't be able to keep hidden forever.

It had been an accident on her part; a wrong ingredient in her hex bag which rendered it utterly useless. Destiny had perhaps played a part there as well. She was hiding in a penthouse suite of one of the most expensive hotels in New York. Amateur. Honestly, he should have found her sooner.

He picked out the best concierge and paid her a visit in a brand new meet suit.

When she answered the door she was suitably paranoid, splashing him with holy water as soon as she saw him. Of course, Azazel was _old_ and a little something like that wouldn't do much to something like him. He shook himself off, or rather he shook the bell boy off.

The boy was a little young compared to his usual vessels, but he figured a fresh face would be less frightening. She wouldn't see it coming.

"What do you want?" she demanded. "I said I didn't want anyone disturbing me."

"Apologies, Ma'am," Azazel grinned, stretching the skin too tight on the boy's skin, flashing a row of white teeth. "But I'm afraid you've been found guilty of theft."

The woman sputtered. "And what, exactly, have I stolen?"

"Twenty children."

Her eyes widened and she tried to slam the door on him, though he was much older and much stronger and he easily pushed back, sending her sprawling to the ground. She crawled away as fast as she could. Azazel stepped inside and gently closed the door.

"You see, Miss," Azazel said, grabbing her leg and yanking her back, "Those children had a very important job to do."

She shrieked as he pulled her to her feet by her hair.

"And you've killed _fifteen_ of them," he scolded, he pinned her to the wall, held her there with his gaze. "You're messing with things much bigger than you, my dear."

She didn't beg, she was smarter than that.

"Don't touch them," she said. "They'll destroy the world."

"Precisely," Azazel agreed, his eyes turned a sickly yellow and she screamed.

"I was trying to save it!"

Azazel cocked his head to the side. "Maybe. And you were very ruthless. I admire that." He took a seat on an expensive silk armchair and stared at her. She was wearing a nightgown. Azazel smiled, he had seen a lot of women in nightgowns before they caught flame.

"I'm sure I'm doing a lot of favours for all those poor families that lost their kids," he sighed, and whipped a finger to the side, slashing her stomach. She screamed and Azazel bathed in the sound before shutting her up. Her lips glued together, she began to cry.

"I'll be seeing you downstairs, Sweetheart," he said. One wave of the bell boy's hand and she was slowly dragged to the ceiling.

He walked out of the room with fire in his wake. Things had changed. He would make do with five children. There things that needed to be done and Lilith was waiting.

* * *

_May 2_ _nd_ _2001_

Sam stood in front of the bathroom mirror, tilting his head from side to side, making faces at his reflection, trying to figure out who was staring back at him.

The boy that copied him was tall, he had dark hair that was long enough to curl around his ears, he had eyes that changed colour sometimes; brown, blue, green. Hazel. Sam didn't recognise him. He'd seen his reflection plenty of times, even after two years of barely seeing it at all, he'd seen it quite often. But the boy in the mirror wasn't much of a boy anymore. He'd grown up and Sam hadn't noticed is happen.

Today, Sam was eighteen years old, which was two hundred and sixteen months, which was nine hundred and eighty-nine weeks, which was six thousand, five hundred and seventy-four days. Sam looked at his face and he saw too much time ingrained on his skin.

He brushed his teeth, trying not to look at the boy in the mirror, then he washed his face and went back to his room. Their house wasn't big, it wasn't fancy, it wasn't anything special, but Sam liked it. They'd only been there for a few months but it already felt like home; the Impala fitted into the driveway like a missing puzzle piece.

He had his own room, which he kept impeccably neat even though he knew he wouldn't get into trouble if it wasn't, not anymore. He just liked to have things in order, when things weren't in the right place Sam would get nervous and when Sam got nervous things would stop making sense.

So he kept everything neat.

He didn't have many possessions either; he kept reminding himself that he should find some things to put in his room. He only had a bed, though sometimes he slept under it when he had a bad day; it was dark and quiet and no one could see him down there. And there was a desk and chair, and a wardrobe for his clothes. Things that any normal person would have. His favourite part of the room was the book shelf above the bed. He kept his old books up there; the ones Dean and Dad kept safe when he'd been gone.

He got dressed and sat at his desk, unsure what he was supposed to do. Normally, he would have breakfast; toast, butter, jelly, banana, orange juice. He liked to list things too; he had a steadily growing pile of notebooks and countless sticky notes up around the house. He should have breakfast… but the routine was all out of place now.

He used to be an early riser, mostly because he had trouble sleeping. Bad dreams, dark thoughts. Then, Dad and Dean took him to the doctor and got him some pills to help him sleep, which Sam didn't like. Mask over his face, sweet gas, oblivion. He didn't like it. Now he slept way past everyone else.

He just need to figure out how to change the routine. Dean would've eaten by now… but Sam really didn't like the idea of eating breakfast by himself on his birthday.

The birthday was another problem. The last time Sam had had a birthday with his family, he'd turned fifteen and his dad took him to practise shooting and Dean had given him a knife. He didn't like the sound of that anymore. It sounded too sharp and too loud for a birthday.

He sighed, deciding he was too hungry to confuse himself over what he was supposed to do on his birthday. He hadn't had one in two years and he felt like he was aging so much more today; two years, six hundred and sixty-nine days. He'd counted.

He was quiet as he went to the kitchen, he didn't want to disturb anyone. The carpeted floor soaked up the steps of his bare feet, warm and soft and normal. He counted his steps, like he'd counted his tiles, and each day, but he liked steps much more.

"…six, seven, eight, nine -"

"Surprise!"

Sam jumped back so far his back slammed against the wall. It took him a moment to get his eyes working properly and his lungs to calm down. He gasped, blinking at the brightness in the room.

"I told you it was a bad idea to surprise him!" that was Dean's irritated voice. Sam looked up to see his brother in front of him, a hand placed gently on his arm. "You okay, Sammy?"

Sam gulped and nodded, taking in the balloons and the streamers and Bobby, Caleb and Ellen and Jo, all wearing colourful pointed hats.

"Why does it look like a rainbow threw up in here?" he asked.

"Because it's supposed to look like that on birthdays," Dean said matter-of-factly. Neither of them were exaggerating; there were blue and silver streamers hanging from the windows, the cabinets, the chairs and table. The balloons almost filled the ceiling, not to mention the ones on the floor, bouncing lightly with every movement. Everyone was wearing a brightly coloured, pointed hat and a grin on their face.

Dean was staring at Sam hopefully. Sam swallowed, realising he was supposed to say something.

"This is ridiculous," he blurted. Dean's face fell, everyone shifted uncomfortably. Sam realised he'd likely said the wrong thing. "But I like ridiculous," he added with a smile. Dean beamed and handed him a party hat. Sam put it on to be polite, he'd take it off later when it made his head too itchy.

"Happy Birthday, Sammy!" Dean said happily, he took him by the shoulders and steered him over to the table, plonking him down on the chair. Everyone else joined in with an out-of-time chorus of 'Happy Birthday!'

Sam wasn't quite sure what was happening, or what he was supposed to do, when everyone began bustling around the small kitchenette, setting plates down on the table. There was the smell of something cooking, warm and sweet like batter. The next thing he knew everyone else had squashed in around the table, Caleb was sitting on an upside-down bucket, and there was breakfast.

Everyone was looking at him. Sam wondered what they were waiting for, or whether he was supposed to do something. Birthdays were hard.

"Uh…" was all that came out of his mouth.

"You want eggs?" Dean asked, sensing Sam's awkwardness. Sam nodded quickly and Dean piled up his plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes and syrup. Everyone else joined in.

"Sorry about this," Dean whispered to him so no one would hear. "I guess I imagined this all a little differently."

"No!" Sam said quickly. "I like it. A lot. I just didn't expect it."

"No one usually expects a surprise party, Sammy," Dean smirked. 

"I mean, I'm not used to birthdays," Sam explained. "I've never had one like this before. I've never even had a birthday cake before."

"Well, lots of things are changing now," Dean said. "And one of those things is how we celebrate birthdays. We're going all out on this whole _normal_ thing."

Sam frowned. "But you and dad still hunt on weekends sometimes," he reminded him. "And I'm a psychic."

"Well," Dean shrugged, "As normal as possible. Now, eat your breakfast."

Sam did as he was told, listening to everyone else's conversation, imagining himself joining in. Maybe he could one day, maybe he might have some semblance of what he used to be again, maybe he wouldn't always be so isolated by his own mind.

"Lost something, son?" Bobby asked. Sam looked up, flustered. "You're digging around your food like there's gold at the bottom."

Sam looked down to his plate. He quickly put his fork down. "I'm not that hungry," he said, not looking up. He never liked the look on people's faces when they stared at him; like he was a walking tragedy. "I'd like to, can I… I'm sorry."

He dared to peek up at Dean, who just gave him a soft smile and said, "No problem. Why don't we leave these losers to clean up?"

"Losers?" Jo rolled her eyes.

Dean winked at her, then turned back to Sam. "Besides, I've got a birthday gift for you."

John slipped into the room and cleared his throat, giving Dean a not-so-subtle look. "Okay, maybe me and Dad got you a gift," Dean said, "But remember, Sammy, it was my idea."

Dean was up on his feet, trying to herd Sam down the hall, with John in tow. They stopped outside of Dean's room, which was the smallest but he hadn't complained, and Dean put his hand on the door knob, an extremely giddy smile was on his face. He pushed the door open and let Sam inside.

"Ta-da!" he exclaimed. Sam glanced around the room.

"What am I looking at?" he asked. There was nothing there but Dean's usual belongings; sawed-offs on the wall, old movie posters, dirty magazines he'd forgotten to put away. Dean stepped into the room and looked around. He turned to John.

"Where is it?" he asked, panicked. "Where could it have gone? It's only -"

He cut himself off when he realised that Sam was still in the room. He cleared his throat. "It seems that the gift might have to wait a second…" he ducked down to look under his bed and growled when he couldn't find anything.

"Dean, did you leave the door open?"

"Dad," Dean sighed. "You seriously think I would do that?"

"Well, where is it then?"

"I don't know!"

"Then go look for it," John ordered, already disappearing out of the room. Dean whipped around to look at Sam.

"Hey… er, just wait here a second? I'll be right back," he said, and dashed away closing the door behind himself. Sam sat down on the bed and flicked through the car magazine that had been left on the carpet. He'd been waiting for a minute or two when he heard a soft, high-pitched sound, almost like a sneeze, coming from Dean's closet.

Sam frowned and stood up, taking a small step forward. The sound came again. The closet door was open a peep and Sam gently pulled on the door.

Lying in a pile of discarded clothing at the bottom of the closet was a small ball of silky, soft yellow fur. Sam crouched down and put a hand gently on the warm body. The pup's head lifted and sniffed his fingers. It was still half-asleep by the looks of things. Sam smiled when it gave his hand a lick. He reached down and scooped it up, resting it on his chest.

He returned to the main area of the house where everyone was frantically searching.

"Dean?"

"One second, Sammy," Dean answered, peering under the sink.

"Dean, I found this in your closet."

Dean jumped, banging his head on the sink, he yelled frustrated and got to his feet, rubbing his head. His eyes widened when he caught sight of the sleeping creature in Sam's arms.

"Oh… oh!" he exclaimed. "Happy Birthday!"

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"She's yours," Dean said. Sam frowned. They weren't allowed to have pets; John had always said no, no matter how many times Sam had begged and begged. _Animals don't belong on the road._ But this made sense; they didn't live on the road anymore.

"Mine?" Sam asked, bewildered.

John wandered in from outside. "Dean, there's no sign of it. I even asked the neighbours."

"I think we're good," Dean told him, stepping over to Sam. The rest of them were watching in anticipation. John beamed when noticed Sam had the dog.

"What do you think, Sam?" he asked.

Sam looked down to the dog, still cradled in his arms but already drooling on his shirt. He smiled. "I would be more excited but I don't want to wake her up," he whispered. "She's amazing. Thank you."

"What'll you call her?" Jo asked, coming over to scratch the puppy behind the ears.

Sam thought for a moment. "Clementine," he decided. "She looks like a Clementine."

"Like an orange?" Dean asked, confused.

"No," Sam rolled his eyes. "Like a name. Clem for short."

"I think it's pretty," Jo said, making faces at the puppy. Clem yawned wide, letting out a small squeak.

"Clementine it is," Dean agreed.

Later, everyone was in the back yard. It wasn't much of a yard, it was so small, but there was some grass and a tree climbing by the wall. Sam liked it. Clem liked it even more, she was bounding around and around, tail wagging, tongue lolling as she played fetch with Sam.

"We'll get her trained," Dean said, watching Sam throw the stick. "She can help you, you know? If you ever… need help, she could know what to do. Like, help you get home if you get lost, calm you down if you're not feeling great."

Sam smiled, realising how much Dean had thought about this. "She's perfect," he said.

Ellen had bought a birthday cake, it was her gift to him, she reminded them all that she didn't bake. It was cherry and almond; Sam's favourite, and the icing was white and clean and _neat_. Sam loved it. He cut the slices and he took his time doing it, even using a protractor to measure it out equally. No one said a word.

Clem was sitting by Sam's feet at the table, eating a bowl of dog biscuits. Bobby had stocked them up with everything they'd need; his gift to Sam.

"When she's older, maybe we can come visit you in South Dakota?" Sam suggested. "She could meet Rumsfeld."

"Get her spayed first," Bobby insisted. "I ain't letting Rumsfeld procreate."

Sam's eyes lit up at the idea of having a litter of puppies around the house. Dean caught on quickly.

"Hell no! She's getting her tubes tied as soon as she's old enough!" he said. Sam laughed until his sides hurt.

They lit up sparklers when it was dark. Dean romped around the back yard like a maniac, claiming to be a wizard, whipping the sparkler around in the air. To be fair, he'd had a bit to drink. Caleb joined in and the two of them had a battle. 

Bobby, Caleb, Jo and Ellen left late at night. Bobby had to take Caleb to a motel because he'd drunk too much to drive without accidentally flinging himself off a bridge. Caleb stopped by the door and kissed Sam sloppily on the cheek before he left, saying, "I love you, kid. I'm serious. I mean it."

Jo gave him a long hug. Ellen squeezed him hard. Bobby patted him on the shoulder, before yanking him into his arms, hugging him longer than anyone else.

Dean closed the door once everyone was gone. "Did you enjoy your extremely normal, super regular birthday?"

"It wasn't normal," Sam said. "It was extraordinary."

Dean stepped forward and drew Sam into his arm. These days, Sam was tall enough that he had to duck down a little. When Dean put a hand through his hair, Sam didn't mind it at all.

"You'll be alright," Dean said. He'd the same thing a million times before, for once it sounded true.

"I know," Sam replied, and he meant it. No visions, no Faceless, no overpowering empathy, not for a long time now. Sam pulled away, picking up Clem who'd fallen asleep in the middle of the hallway. Sam wandered down the hall to his room.

"She peed in your shoe, by the way," he called back to Dean. He couldn't help but giggle at the cursing that followed.

Sam settled himself and his pup into bed. He lay on his side with Clem curled up at his chest. He stroked her velvety ears softly, watched the tiny rise and fall as she breathed, watched the way her nose sniffed and her whiskers twitched, even in sleep.

He fell asleep peacefully without pills for the first time in months. When he woke up from a nightmare, hot and sweaty and panting, Clem was there to lick his wounds. His broken, old skin with six thousand, five hundred and seventy four days' worth of scars.

**To be continued in Part II**

* * *

* * *

* * *

**Timeline:**

**July 20** **th** **1998** Sam and John argue about an educational programme that Sam has been invited to. Dean tries, unsuccessfully, to keep the peace.

**July 25** **th** **1998** John sends Sam away to live with Pastor Jim when Sam makes it clear he will one day go to college and give up hunting. He gives permission for Sam to attend the educational programme.

**July 30** **th** **1998** Dean speaks to Sam on the phone the day before Sam leaves for the programme. It is the last time they will speak to one another for a long time.

**August 15** **th** **1998** Jim reports that Sam never came back from the programme. He shows John and Dean a coded letter from Sam which begs for help.

**September 21** **st** **1998** John and Dean question a demon about Sam's disappearance, along with the disappearances of 19 other children who are the same age. The demon tells them truthfully that demons had nothing to do with it. John tells Dean what he knows about Sam and the children like him.

**September 22** **nd** **1998** Dean meets Ellen and Jo Harvelle for the first time when he and John go to the Roadhouse to seek help.

**September 23** **rd** **1998** Dean gets to know Jo. He and John leave the Roadhouse to take on a hunt while Ash searches for answers.

**September 25** **th** **1998** John and Dean hunt a Black Dog. John is injured when Dean is distracted by thoughts of Sam. In the hospital, a concussed John asks for Sam.

**November 2** **nd** **1998** Dean gets drunk on the anniversary of his mother's death, thinking Mary would blame him for Sam's disappearance. A sober John takes care of Dean and admits to being a poor father at times. He swears that he will find Sam.

**December 24** **th** **1998** Dean wishes his little brother a Merry Christmas and decides to pray for him.

**May 2** **nd** **1999** John and Dean reminisce on Sam's 16th birthday. John assures Dean that he thinks Sam is still alive. They plan to give him a real birthday party when they get him back.

**April 9** **th** **2000** Ash finds a trail on Sam. John and Dean call Bobby, Caleb and Josh for help to rescue him.

**June 1** **st** **2000** Sam is rescued when John and Dean sneak in to the Institution. They are upset when they realise that Sam has changed.

**June 2** **nd** **2000** Sam is taken to Bobby's and refuses to tell them about his experience and what happened to him for the past 2 years.

**June 6** **th** **2000** Sam reveals he sees someone who is not there and struggles to differentiate reality from hallucination.

**June 14** **th** **2000** Sam and Dean watch the sunrise after Sam's first full-night's sleep since he was rescued.

**June 17** **th** **2000** Sam is manic and almost crashes the Impala, he comes down badly.

**June 20** **th** **2000** Sam almost completely withdraws from reality. Pastor Jim gets in contact about a psychiatrist who might be able to help them.

**June 28** **th** **2000** Sam makes his first appearance in public after his captivity when he accompanies Dean to the supermarket. He reveals himself to be a very capable thief. Dean is shocked by how much more intelligent Sam is, being fluent in multiple languages.

**June 30** **th** **2000** Sam briefly attacks Dean when Dean wakes him in the morning, seeming not to recognise him. Sam is reunited with Pastor Jim and meets Dr Many Richardson who makes an unofficial diagnosis. Sam is prescribed medication. Caleb and Josh head to Bobby's with information about Sam's abduction.

**July 6** **th** **2000** Sam is still adjusting to his medication. Caleb and Josh show John, Dean and Bobby a file they found on Sam. A video tape shows Sam's decline of mental health during his captivity, as well as showing them how dangerous he can be when he kills one of his captors.

**July 7** **th** **2000** The group is disturbed by the video they watched the night before and they contemplate the reasons why Sam was taken. Sam tells Dean that he had a dream that he killed him.

**July 16** **th** **2000** Sam has been spitting his pills and thinks about the man only he can see named Faceless. It is revealed the Sam has had brain surgery and has dreams of the future and is able to feel other people's emotions. He does not tell anyone about it.

**July 22** **nd** **2000** Sam is woken by another dream about Dean's death and overhears John and Dean arguing about his progress. He decides to prove himself to be normal by sneaking out to a high school party. His symptoms are worse since he stopped taking his pills and he breaks down while making out with a girl from the party, causing her to worry and call for help. Sam is thrown out of the party when he accidentally breaks the girl's nose. He wanders through the streets before Deputy Jody Mills finds him and takes him to hospital.

**July 23** **rd** **2000** Dean notices that Sam is missing and he, Bobby and John go searching for him. Dean finds that Sam has been taken to the ER and that a cop is waiting to talk to him. Sam is making little sense when Dean finally sees him but admits to him that he's been spitting out his pills.

**July 24** **th** **2000** The hospital decides that Sam will be sent to the psychiatric ward indefinitely. John and Dean help Sam escape. Sam and Dean head to Bobby's in the Impala and Sam makes it known that Dean makes him feel safe.

**August 1** **st** **2000** The Winchesters stay with Jim before going to meet Pamela Barnes. She explains that Sam is the way he is partly to due to overwhelming psychic abilities that were forced on him and never taught properly. On the way to a safe house, Sam uses Dean's gun to kill the driver in the car behind him who is revealed to be someone coming to take him back to his captors. They change their course for the Roadhouse.

**August 2** **nd** **2000** Sam meets Ash and Harvelles for the first time. Dean tells Jo that he thinks Sam is dangerous. Sam tries to apologise to Dean for his poor mental state, Dean assures him that he has nothing to be sorry for.

**August 3** **rd** **2000** Ava comes to the Roadhouse and triggers Sam. Sam attacks the hunters in the bar and strangles Dean. Caleb sedates him before he can kill Dean. Dean realises the Sam's dreams might have been true. Sam is restrained. He is revealed to have an alternate personality due to mental conditioning from his captors. He makes an attempted escape but returns to himself before he gets too far. Dean and John decide they need to go after the people who took Sam.

**August 4** **th** **2000** Sam struggles with his alternate personality. He tells his family that they should kill him. Dean and John plan how to take down the Institution, Sam tells them that they can't do it without him because of the other special children. He plans to let Ava come for him.

**August 6** **th** **2000** Sam tricks Ava into showing him where her captors are, she is completely loyal to them and accuses Sam of being a traitor. Sam and Dean come face-to-face with the surviving special children and Sam's vision comes true when Jake injures Dean. Dean meets the woman behind it all before she goes on the run. Sam gets revenge on the surgeons, injuring himself in the process.

**August 8** **th** **2000** Dean wakes up in hospital where his wounds have been treated. He learns that the Institution has been destroyed and the other special children escaped. Doctors are baffled as to why Sam won't wake up. Andy comes to tell Dean that Sam used up too much power and is trapped in his own mind but offers to help retrieve him. Sam wakes up and Andy disappears again.

**October 5** **th** **2000** Yellow-eyes sends the woman who stole the special children to Hell and decides to make-do with only five children to continue his plans.

**May 2** **nd** **2001** The Winchesters have settled down and Dean and John throw Sam a surprise birthday party. Sam is given a puppy as a gift, which he names Clementine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will be continued in a sequel title Sam I Will Be, subscribe to the Sam I Am series to keep up to date. There are also some time-stamps coming your way soon! :)


End file.
